


dead on arrival (i'm writing you a chorus and here is your verse)

by revengefrankislife



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Blow Jobs, Gay, M/M, kenny dies but he comes back so i don't think it counts, non-canon au but highschool still, there are other character but i'm not tagging them all, this is gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revengefrankislife/pseuds/revengefrankislife
Summary: it's nearing the end of highschool, and the whole yaoi-fake-relationship is DEFINITELY a thing of the past. kenny TOTALLY doesn't have any feelings for butters, and stan is COMPLETELY straight. (right?)or, a fic in which everyone is a bit too focused on helping everyone else to notice how stupid they're being about their own feelings.





	1. more than you bargained for

Craig is _not_ in a good mood.

Both yesterday and Wednesday night were bad nights for Tricia, in which he spent the former sitting beside her bed so she wouldn’t be scared when she periodically woke up every hour, and the latter trying to stop her from banging her head against the wall. It was the first Wednesday of the month, and to her that means she has to be awake at the start of every hour, but from the past Craig’s learnt that not being there when she wakes up means she’ll loudly cry until he shows up. Nobody’s really worked out why she bangs her head, but whenever he asks it’s because she started by accident and now she can’t stop. Obviously, because he’s not an utter piece of shit, he’s not blaming Tricia for his disgusting lack of sleep – she can’t help it, and getting angry is only going to make things worse. He’s still tired as shit, though, and when his english test comes back with a D instead of a B, he also bangs his head against the desk (only once, though.) Around him, he hears everyone else rushing out of the class, but he can’t scrape together enough energy to lift his head until somebody taps his shoulder.

“Come on, dude,” Kyle sighs, Craig slowly rising his head and leaning back into his chair. “A D isn’t even that bad.” Craig makes an inarticulate grunt and rubs his eyes. Trust Kyle (the guy who gave up tutoring him because it was too hard but now doesn’t want to feel like this is his fault) to say that. “Look, I’m sure there’s someone with a... more _suited_ personality to yours that’ll tutor you.” By this, he means someone who won’t give up english to punch Craig when he starts being an asshole. Kyle isn’t this someone. They both decided it was for the best on a particularly difficult afternoon when Craig really didn’t understand what Kyle was trying to explain and Stan had to hold Kyle back from punching Craig.

(That’s another one of Kyle’s features. Not only is he a really smart kid who gets annoyed really easily by Craig, he also always has Stan Marsh somewhere in the near distance.)

(Seriously, Craig never even remembers inviting him in.)

“What about Tweek?” Kyle prompts, sighing in relief when Craig finally slings his rucksack over his shoulder and stands up.

Craig tries really hard to pretend his ears didn’t just perk up. “What _about_ Tweek?”

“He’s like, super fucking smart.”

“Dude, you think I’ll somehow annoy him less than I annoy you? I’m not sure what kind of shitty logic you’re trying to sell here, Broflovski, but it’s not happening. Tweek has a shit-fit whenever he comes over ‘cause my room is such a mess.”

“Yeah and then he usually ends up cleaning it for you, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Fuck you,” Craig says blankly, but Kyle grins and punches his shoulder lightly enough to show he didn’t take offence. As soon as they turn the corner, Craig can see the space next to Tweek in the cafeteria that’s been obviously reserved for him, and he punches Kyle in the arm quite a bit harder when he comments on this. He’s about to make a stupid comment back about Stan saving him a seat on his lap, but then he sees Wendy sat where Kyle usually sits, and he just squeezes the smaller boy’s shoulder. Wordlessly he nods, accepting the invitation to make Butters move down one so Kyle can sit next to Craig.

Tweek smiles weakly when Craig slumps down next to him, sliding over the hot chocolate he always buys when he’s getting himself a coffee. After drinking a little, he squeezes Tweek’s arm in thanks and the smile becomes stronger.

“Dude, why’re you sat there? You always sit here,” Stan asks, and Craig rolls his eyes at how stupid this kid is (which Stan dutifully ignores.)

“Wendy’s sat there, Stan,” Kyle says through gritted teeth, not bothering to look up from his book until Butters offers him a carrot stick.

“Oh, right.”

Craig slams his head on the table again. Clyde slides in on the other side of Tweek, holding his fist out for a bump and not backing down until Tweek reluctantly pokes his knuckle. Stan is tolerable, barely, but Craig probably wouldn't agree to put up with him if it wasn’t for Kyle. That being said, Eric sat with them whenever Stan sat with them, and Craig would rather sit on Stan’s lap for the whole hour than have to listen to Eric chat shit. To top it off, Tweek’s always more jittery around him, always scared to set him off, and Craig’s never been particularly fond of people who scare Tweek.

“You look like shit,” Clyde says cheerfully, pulling a cereal bar from his pocket, “Didn’t you sleep?”

Craig shrugs, pulling his hat off to fluff his hair. “Trish keeps having bad nights.” In the corner of his eye he sees Wendy turn, as if she’s about to stick her nose in, so he leaves it at that. Clyde will understand, anyway, and if he wants more detail he’ll just ask Craig later. Oddly enough, he actually doesn’t mind Wendy, but she’s definitely ‘invasively curious’. (That’s how Stan describes it, obviously. Kyle just rolls his eyes and mutters ‘nosy bitch’ loud enough for only Craig or Kenny to hear.) Craig’s been tired of Stan’s whole ‘look! I have a girlfriend, of course I'm straight!’ act since he met him, but it’s at the point where even Wendy’s friends are starting to catch on, and that really says something. At least, this is according to Bebe according to Clyde, and Clyde is probably the least reliable person that Craig’s ever met.

Tweek digs his nails into his own palms, which Craig notices he tends to do whenever he has to speak in front of people. He even gets so far as opening his mouth when Eric announces his arrival, dropping his already empty coke bottle on the table and swiping Butters’ diet pepsi before he even looks up. “Aw, c’mon Eric. I paid for that,” he sighs, but Eric ignores him and he doesn’t make much other effort. Kenny silently sits down opposite Eric, glaring as he slides the rest of his lucozade over to Butters (who just beams at Kenny like he’s put the sun in the sky.)

“Woah,” he says, eyes flicking between Kyle and Stan. “You never sit there, man.” Wendy _finally_ seems to sense she isn’t really wanted, so she says she’ll text Stan later and stomps off to sit with Red on the other side of the cafeteria.

“Seriously dude? I was just having a fucking conversation,” said Stan, throwing one of his chips at Eric when he ignores him. “Why does everyone have a fucking problem with me sitting with my girlfriend at lunch?”

“We don’t,” he replies, and Craig finds Kyle’s hand under the table to give it a quick squeeze, because he saw the look on his face when Stand said _girlfriend_. “Just don’t bring her over here, bruh. This is a guy table- other than Butters, obviously.”

“Stop being such an asshole, Cartman – you’re just being shitty ‘cause you’ve never had a girlfriend!” he retorts, but Cartman just laughs.

“Yeah, like you ever do anything with Wendy other than text her,” he laughs, and this is probably one of the only statements Eric’s ever said or will say that Craig agrees with. He sees them together inside and outside of school quite a bit, and Kyle always complains about it when he ends up hanging out with them, and he’s never once met anyone who’s seen them kiss. If Stan wants to bolt himself up in the closet, Craig wouldn’t care (that much, because it would still upset Kyle) but he’s not even doing it well.

“Fuck off fatass, we do stuff!” he insists. (He’s lying.)

“I’m going to the library,” Kyle stands up and says, and Craig’s almost proud of how much emotion he’s managing to keep out of his voice. “Butters, you coming?”

Butters nods and follows, and probably with lack of anything better to do, Kenny follows.

“Look what you’ve done now!” hisses Stan.

“Dude, the Jew left ‘cause you won’t get your head out your ass. I’m just pointing it out.”

Craig is _this_ close to breaking his nose on the table. Tweek seems to realise this and gently squeezes his forearm, crushing his empty coffee cup in his free hand. “Can we skip last period?” Craig begs, sticking out his bottom lip when Tweek’s eyes widen. “Please?” he asks, giving a poor attempt at some kind of puppy-dog-eyes look and dragging out the ‘e’ until Tweek completely destroys his polystyrene cup. “I mean, you don’t _have_ to come with me, I’ll skip either way – it’d just be so _boring_ by myself...”

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, indicating that he’s given in. “We’re- _ngh_ \- we have to- to go to your house, though.” Craig shrugs, grinning anyway. At his house, they can watch TV sat on Craig’s bed, which usually leads to Tweek falling asleep halfway through a movie either very near or even on him (he is a fan of this. Not that he’s going to ever actually admit it out loud.) “A-and- and if we get caught again, I’m- _ngh-_ saying you kidnapped me.” Again, Craig just shrugs and keeps grinning. Not only does this mean he doesn’t have to put up with a hour of shitty English class, he now gets a whole afternoon (and probably night, because it’s a Friday) with Tweek. Just him and Tweek, all alone, for the entire afternoon.

As is normal, Craig hears Kenny before he sees him. “I’m hurt, Tucker,” he fake sighs, forcing his way inbetween the two. “You’re thinking of bunking without me? How _could_ you?”

Craig gives him a _look_ that he hopes says _don’t you dare come with us._ Kenny doesn’t get the message. “Look, Craig, if you’re _that_ worried about me third wheeling, I can bring Butters! Then it’s a double date.” Craig momentarily ignores him to put all of his energy into not letting his cheeks flush at the same time Tweek makes an indiscriminate noise of protest. “Right, Butters?”

Butters just rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, probably already feeling bad for abandoning Kyle in the library. “Gee, Ken, I don’t know... if my parents find out I’ll get grounded for, like, forever.” Kenny leans past Craig, lying his head down on the table and batting his eyelashes up at Butters.

“Come on, you don’t want me third wheeling for the whole afternoon, do you?” he sighs, happily ignoring the protests from both Craig and Tweek.

“Aw, I guess one period doesn’t matter all too much. I’m sure they won’t find out.”

Craig hates Kenny.

 

 

After about forty minutes, Craig coaxes Tweek into falling asleep curled up around one of his pillows. Usually, he’d be surprised it didn’t take too long because of the 3+ cups of coffee he’d had today (the 3 coming from what Craig had seen him drink, so it could really be any number more) but from the bags under his eyes today, it seemed a bit like he hadn’t gotten much sleep lately. Silently, Kenny nudges his leg and indicates to Butters, who’s also asleep; only instead of a pillow, he’s curled around Kenny’s coat. Even Craig has to admit how cute he looks. Even though Kenny convinced him to get his ears pierced and an undercut (which caused him to get thrown out of the house for a week,) he still looks really young and sweet with his head nestled in Kenny’s hood and slightly chubby fingers curled around Kenny’s ankle. Slowly, Craig helps Kenny wiggle out of his grip and they leave the two blonds asleep on the bed and shut the bedroom door behind them. Downstairs is probably far away enough to be loud again, but neither of them talk until Craig closes his back door behind him and swipes Kenny’s lighter from his back pocket. “Sorry I crashed your date,” he beams, the tone of his voice suggesting that actually, he’s not sorry at all. He swipes his lighter back, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. “If we’re being honest, though, it’s not like you would’ve made any moves just because you two were alone.” Craig feels his ears go read and pulls his hat down further. “You’re alone with him- what, every single day now? And you still haven’t done anything, huh?”

“It wasn’t a date,” he grumbles, flicking ash at the other boy when he laughs.

“Oh, right! I forgot that it was normal for best friends to be in love with each other and not go on dates.”

“You’d literally crawl up Butters’ ass and die if he asked you to.”

“That is utterly not the point, Tucker.”

“You can’t give me shit for ignoring feelings that don't even exist whilst you’re ignoring yours too, asshole.”

Kenny just smiles, watching the smoke blossom from his mouth in the cool autumn air. “Watch me.”


	2. i'm just off; a lost cause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny's not sure why everyone thinks he’s so good with relationship advice. Sex advice? Anytime. Drugs? Always. Relationships? He can’t even handle that himself, let alone for anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm switching between craig and kenny's pov - it accidentally got deep really quick? sorry

Despite his plan to stay the night, Kenny ends up leaving the same time he wakes Butters up to go home for his dinner. He doesn’t mind, though – Craig explains without making eye contact that his mom doesn’t want Tricia disturbing anyone during the night and nobody feels the need to pry any further. Somehow, like always, Tweek ends up staying, but neither he nor Butters feel excluded. Tweek’s viewed as family by the Tuckers, and Tricia’s always seemed to be fonder of him than Craig, so it makes sense. Being the gentleman that he is, of course, he walks Butters home (or, as close as he can get without Mr Stotch calling the police about the ‘hooded stalker’ that follows his son at night.) Butters being Butters, he rambles emptily for the whole walk, but Kenny doesn’t mind – he’s never really been the talker in any relationship.

Friendship. He meant friendship, obviously.

After checking the time on his phone and discovering he’s about two minutes from being late home, the smaller boy hurries out a goodbye and runs away, Kenny not missing the short squeeze he gives both of his hands and the smile on his face when Kenny says he’ll text him. Karen knows he's going to be late home tonight and knows to stay out of the way, so he’s in no rush to head home. Instead, he turns around, cinching his hood tighter and zipping it to his nose to keep the cool air off of his face and heading towards the lake (and yeah, just ‘cause it says pond in the name, that doesn’t make it a pond. In Kenny’s mind, ponds are usually little holes in the ground with weird newts and green scum on top. Stark’s Pond is a fucking lake.) Thankfully, nobody seems to be around when he sits down on the grass, grabbing a small handful of shitty pebbles from a couple of feet away and attempting to skip them on the still water. He doesn’t exactly succeed, but he’s still pretty entertained until he feels something hit the back of his head. “Hey, Kenny.” It’s Kyle, Kenny realises without needing to turn and see who flicked him, so he just hums in response. “Can I sit?” he asks, and ideally, Kenny’s in the mood to be by himself, but he can hear the softness in Kyle’s voice that isn’t normally present, so he pats the ground next to him. Kyle sinks down, shoulder softly bumping against his own as they both contentedly sit in silence. Even before highschool, Kenny kind of figured out that even though Kyle was an asshole, he was probably Kenny’s favourite from their old elementary school friendship group. He still loves Stan, obviously, it’s just hard to sit around and watch him ignore Kyle whilst trying to convince himself he loves Wendy – and Cartman, he’s a whole other story. There’s not really any depth to him other than how much of a shithead he is. Kenny would be lying if he said he didn’t still find the asshole funny, but that’s really all there is to him.

Eventually, Kyle sighs, bringing his knees up to his chest and firmly placing his chin on top. “I don’t understand.” Kenny doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. It’s pretty much all he ever talks about, but at the same time he can’t quite bring himself to be annoyed because of how clearly it’s upsetting him. “Why can’t I get over him?”

“You deserve better,” is all Kenny can offer. He’s not sure why everyone thinks he’s so good with relationship advice. Sex advice? Anytime. Drugs? Always. Relationships? He can’t even handle that for himself, let alone for anyone else.

Kyle just sadly forces out a laugh. “I know. That doesn’t make this any easier.” Kenny shifts closer, slinging an arm around Kyle for comfort. That’s another thing he likes about Kyle; Stan and Cartman are too scared of looking gay to ever be comfortable with more than a hug, and Kenny kind of craves physical contact (primarily not in a sex way, believe it or not.) “Sometimes, he acts like she doesn’t even exist- like, it’s real enough that I can start pretending, even for just a little bit, that she doesn’t. And then it’s like he catches himself doing it, and finds a way to focus on her again.”

“He’s scared,” Kenny says through the fabric of his coat. Kyle just shrugs.

“I know. I’m scared too, but I’m being honest, at least.”

Kenny doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s offered tons of time to help Stan open his eyes and actually, truly notice Kyle, but Kyle won’t let him.

“Wanna know the worst part?” he laughs again, but this time it’s short and sharp. “He could be like this forever and it still wouldn’t change anything. I- I don’t think this is ever going to go away, because I don’t want it to.” All Kenny can do is nod. At this point, he’s lost for words – Kyle deserves someone who isn’t denying their feelings and shutting him out because of them, and he knows that. Kenny knows as well as the next guy that wanting feelings to go away doesn’t mean they will.

The two of them sit there for another 20 minutes, the silence heavy but not at all uncomfortable. Sometimes, there just isn’t anything to say, and sitting together in silence is better than being alone. When Kyle’s phone starts ringing, Kenny finally moves away, wiggling his fingers to get his circulation going again. The temperature’s dropped drastically in the last half hour, and he’s almost glad to have a reason to head back. “ _It’s Butters_ ,” he mouths, and Kenny worriedly digs his phone out of his pocket. It’s dead. “No- Calm down, Butters- _dude,_ ” he frets, Kenny eventually swiping the phone from his hands and unzipping the top part of his jacket to speak freely.

“Hey, Butters,” he says softly when he’s greeted by the sharp sounds of him crying. He tugs Kyle’s jacket to let him know something is really, really wrong. “What’s happened, buddy?”

“I- I was late for my dinner,” he sobs, and Kenny immediately gets up and starts walking back in the direction of his house. “I tried to tell my dad that it was only a minute, a-and that I tried real hard to run there in time, b-but he said that wasn’t good enough, no sir, and I needed to- to learn some _discipline_ ,” he chokes out, whispering the last word to outline how scared he was. Kenny’s really worried now.

“You got out though, right?”

“I’m at yours now, Ken- that’s okay, right? I can sneak home later but I j-just _had_ to get outta there.”

Kenny doesn’t want to ask in front of Kyle whether he got out before his dad got to him, so instead he promises he won’t be long and hangs up, giving Kyle a brief but firm hug before legging it down the road back to his. Usually, he’ll go on runs in the early morning, but not all too fast. This is probably the fastest he’s able to run, because last time this happened Butters’ dad managed to come out and find him sat on Kenny’s doorstep. He didn’t get home in time to hide him inside, so his dad dragged him away by the collar of his shirt. He makes it, though, red faced and panting, greeted with the sight of Butters curled up against the wall of his house. Kenny doesn’t waste any time, continuing to run until he’s reached him and then dropping harshly to his knees.

“I’m sorry, Ken,” he mumbles, not making much effort to move until Kenny brushes the hair from his eyes.

“This is _not_ your fault,” he says fiercely. “Can you walk? How hurt are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Ken. Just a little tired out from runnin’ here is all.”

Kenny frowns, because he can see the blood leaking from the cut on the smaller boy’s lip, but he doesn’t say anything for now. At the moment, his top priority is getting him inside.

 

As usual, his dad scowls and asks who the ‘twink’ is, but when Kenny makes it obvious how much Butters is leaning on him to walk, he backs off and sits back down on the couch. “Kevin’s bed is free,” he grumbles, and Kenny nods in thanks, not bothering to worry where Kevin’s fucked off to this time. Butters manages to carry himself up the stairs, albeit slowly, eventually collapsing onto Kenny’s bed. Karen squeezes in just before Kenny closes the door, curling up on the bed next to Butters as soon as she sees him.

“Hey, kid,” he sighs, shedding his coat and kicking it over to the other side of the room. It’s cold inside, as usual, but he’s still sweating from running so far, so he needs to cool down first. Butters doesn’t say anything, just pushes himself up to lean against the wall and wraps an arm around Karen when she squeezes him. “It's a little late for you, huh?”

“Butters is here 'n I haven't seen him in ages,” she says firmly, not letting go. Kenny sighs, not wanting to freak her out by telling her what’s actually wrong. She's obviously had more than her fair share of exposure to these things, but he doesn't want her having to deal with anymore than she already has to.

“You can sleep with my coat if you go to bed now?” he suggests, and reluctantly she sighs and gets up (not before pressing a wet kiss to Butters’ cheek) and picks up the coat, hugging him goodnight and trudging back to her room. He’s going to be cold tonight, but he really needs to make sure Butters is okay.

“What happened, buttercup?” he sighs, sitting down cross-legged facing him.

“He had boots on,” he mumbles, not looking Kenny in the eyes. “He’s gonna be so mad, Ken- I wasn’t meant to leave, he wasn’t done-”

“I’m glad you left. I wish I’d never let you go home.”

“Aw, no Ken, this isn’t your fault. I was late home, right?”

“Yeah, by a fucking _minute_ , Butters!” he snaps, immediately feeling awful when Butters flinches slightly. “Fuck- I didn’t mean to shout, sorry.” Butters leans forward to rest his head on Kenny’s shoulder, which Kenny takes as a sign of trust. “Where does it hurt the worst?”

“It’s not too bad, honest; I’m just real tired. Do ya think we could maybe go on to sleep now?”

Kenny’s not convinced, but he nods anyway, because whether Butters is hurt or not, he definitely needs to rest. That, however, doesn’t stop Kenny from snatching the borrowed sweatpants back when Butters sheds his jeans and reveals worryingly dark bruises.

“Butters.”

“I- it’s not as bad as it looks?” he tries, but Kenny’s already looking closer, the purples too deep not to notice on his milky white skin.

“There’s a fucking boot print on your thigh.”

“Other than that one, then.”

“ _Leo_ ,” he says, a little more desperately this time. Butters listens. “Is it just bruises? Is the skin broken anywhere?”

“On my back,” he whispers, not putting up a fight this time when Kenny walks over and starts to peel off his t-shirt. Thankfully, the scrape isn’t too bad compared to what he’d expected – it’s a bad scrape, but only a scrape, and it’s already scabbed over. The deep red and purpling bruise over his shoulder blade is making him feel sick, though, and he leaves Butters shaking momentarily in his room to rush down the stairs and see if they still have that icepack Stan gave him for his last black eye (Cartman’s work.)

“That boy okay?” his mum asks once he starts rummaging through the fridge. “We ain’t got no food left. Karen’s got the last bag of chips.”

“’m looking for an ice-pack. Put one in here a couple months ago.”

“Your dad had it last time – don’t go askin’ him now, though,” she warns, and Kenny feels even sicker at how scared she sounds. He just nods, though, filling a ziplock bag with cold water and tipping it upside down to check for leaks once it’s sealed. “Let me know how he’s doin’ tomorrow, yeah?”

Kenny nods again, giving her a brief smile before looking down again and rushing up the stairs before his dad can call out to him. It’s taken a while, but he’s kind of getting there in terms of having a relationship with his mom. He hears his dad mumble something from the couch, but it’s quiet enough for him to pretend he didn’t hear, so he just carries on upstairs back to his room where Butters is still standing where Kenny left him, shaking in the cold air. “You can put the sweatpants on, buttercup,” he sighs, frowning when Butters doesn’t move. “Butters?”

“They’re not gonna let me back in,” he whispers, following when Kenny pulls him over to the bed and gently sits him down. With coaxing, he tugs the sweatpants on slowly whilst Kenny starts looking for a hoodie somewhere on the floor. It’s usually his go-to when Karen sleeps with his jacket, but Butters needs it more than him.

“What makes you say that?”

“They don’t, not when I’ve been real bad.”

Kenny takes a deep breath. “If you’d stayed there any longer, he would’ve put you in the fucking hospital.” Tears start running down the other boy’s face, and all of Kenny’s anger immediately dissipates; he’s just left with extreme worry. “You rather talk about it in the morning?”

Slowly, Butters nods, sticking his arms up to let Kenny pull on the hoodie he found under his jeans. Despite himself, Kenny laughs at how sleepy he is and kisses him on the forehead without really thinking – it’s what he does with Karen when he puts her to bed. Thankfully, Butters doesn’t really react, just lies down and rolls over to the right side, smiling sleepily when Kenny covers him with the blanket. Naturally, Kenny waits until he seems to be asleep before creeping back downstairs for a cigarette (usually, he’d have no issues with just smoking in his room, but Butters always coughs and looks like he wants to complain. Butters being Butters, he never says anything, but Kenny doesn’t want to subject him to anything he doesn’t like.)

It’s bitterly cold out now that the sun’s completely gone down, and now the adrenaline’s worn off, Kenny can feel the ache in his legs and the sharp stings of however many cuts on his knees he got from the rocks and smashed glass outside his house. Oh well. Butters is safe, and that’s all he really cares about at the moment. Tomorrow, he can re-assess the situation and borrow Stan’s car if he needs to drive him to the ER.

Once he’s quietly closed the front door behind him, he leans over his dad’s sleeping body on the floor to switch off the TV, and after a moment of debate, tosses the shitty couch blanket over him so he doesn’t freeze. It’d just be annoying if he died overnight. Karen’s fast asleep when he sticks his head in, which is a relief – she doesn’t even wake up when he grabs Kevin’s blanket off of his bed for extra warmth. Butters is sat back up again, shaking; the bruises on his pale skin already looking dangerously dark. “Oh. Hey, Ken.”

“You cold? I got another blanket,” he says, holding it up as he kicks off his sneakers and jumps into bed. Unsurprisingly, Butters clings to him as soon as he lays Kevin’s blanket on top of his own _– it’s so he feels safe,_ Kenny tells himself firmly. That’s all there is to it. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You smell like smoke. A-and strawberries.” Kenny frowns. Where’d the strawberries come from?

“It’s real nice,” he reassures, squeezing Kenny’s chest gently before burying his face in the crook of his neck and finally breathes out so heavily that he can almost feel the tension leaving his chest. “N’night.”

“Night, buttercup,” he hums, threading his fingers into Butters’ hair (purely for Butters’ benefit. Not his own, obviously.)

 

Kenny wakes up to a clean room and a bed that’s seemingly been made with him in it, judging by how hard it is to untuck himself from the covers. With great difficulty, he rolls over and scans his room for Butters. Worryingly, the room is empty, but there’s two McDonald’s hash browns on his dresser and a note written with one of Karen’s sparkly pens.

_Ken,_

_Thanks a ton for letting me stay! I owe you one. I’m just going home real quick to see if I’m grounded, but if you wanna hang out later then text me! I mean if I’m not grounded. I’m too wimpy to sneak out of my window!_

_\- Butters xxx_

It’s after his stomach drops at the kisses that he knows he’s truly, utterly fucked.

 

-

 

“Craig,” Tweek whispers, poking him slightly. “ _Craig_.” Collectively, his body and mind haven’t made the decision as to whether he should decide to be awake or not; currently, he’s at that dreamy, floaty state where he could easily drop back into sleep if Tweek stopped pinching his hip. After a couple more seconds, the blond seems to give up, turning his back to Craig and sliding out of bed. “Trish?” he whispers, and Craig’s head shoots up as fast as is humanly possible. She’s sat on the floor, picking the fluff that’s embedded in his carpet and making a small pile of it. “How many- _ngh_ \- many more before you c-an go back to bed?” he asks, and Craig’s almost proud at how calm he’s managing to keep his voice.

“I’m doing it in hundreds,” she says dully, not looking up when he sits down next to her. “I’ve done four hundred and thirty seven.”

“S-so when you- you get to 500, you’ll go b-back to bed? Can I help?”

She pauses the fluff picking for a minute, carefully considering his option. “Yeah,” she decides, “but you can only do thirty one pieces. And you have to count them out when you’re doing it or I won’t know if you’re doing it right.” Together, they start piling up the black fluff from Craig’s stupid socks, Tweek whisper-counting as promised whilst he does it. Originally, he was obviously planning on interfering, but neither of them seem to have noticed that he’s awake – and besides, Tricia usually gets too overloaded when more than one person tries to help when she’s like this. His parents have accepted that he’s best with her and that they need to back off when she’s like this, but they do occasionally forget. It’s not like he blames them or anything, but it always ends up a lot worse than it could’ve because of their arguing when they won’t back down. The last time Craig’s dad tried to shove him away from her, she knocked herself out to shut the noise away. Thomas doesn’t do that anymore.

“Did you hear me count all my pieces?” Tweek asks, shoulders loosening slightly when she nods. “What do you want to do with it?”

“I’m tired now,” is all she says, standing up and rubbing her eyes. Without hesitation, Tweek grabs the hand she holds out and slowly leads her back into her room. If he really concentrates, he can hear the noise of her quilt being tucked in and him humming the red racer theme tune to her. After a couple minutes, Tweek wanders back in quietly, his whole body flinching when he meets Craig’s eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Craig!” he hisses, saying Craig’s name in the weird way he always does when he’s talking too fast (which ends up being most of the time. Craig is past the point of no return when it comes to telling Tweek his name isn’t actually pronounced ‘creg’.) “I- I thought you were sleeping!”

“I woke up,” he yawns, patting the mattress in invitation. “You handled that really well, Tweekers. Come back to bed.” Tweek opens his mouth, as if he’s about to object, but then shrugs anyway and trudges over to the bed. It’s not exactly big enough for two people, but Craig can’t say he minds. “Did she wake you up?”

“N-no – I couldn’t- _ngh_ \- sleep; too much coffee. She j-just scared the _shit_ out of me, like- holy f-fuck. Is- is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, absentmindedly scratching his chest. “She needs to see a doctor, but dad says he doesn’t ‘believe’ in modern-day medicine.” Tweek wrinkles his nose. “Look, I know your prescription didn’t work for you, but it might work for her. I want her to try everything she can. Something _has_ to work.” Tweek involuntarily twitches again, swallowing the noise in the back of his throat. Craig just sighs, pulling the smaller boy into his side and gently squeezing him. “You’ll find something that works for you, Tweek.” After a couple seconds, Tweek gives in and relaxes into his chest, his skin burning hot against Craig’s chest.

“What- what if- _ngh_ \- what if I don’t? I’ve t-tried every fucking b-brand of- of pills they offer, Craig!”

“And is medication the only treatment for anxiety they offer?”

Tweek sighs. “N-no.”

“Then we’ll just keep trying something until it works, yeah?” he offers, and Craig feels Tweek smile against his neck. “What?”

“You said ‘we’.”

Craig finds himself smiling back. “I meant it.”


	3. you were the last good thing about this part of town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the fuck is up, fucker?” is what Clyde greets him with, far too loudly for the coffee shop. Surprisingly, he only gets a glare from two customers, and Tweek’s mom doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “Where’s your boyfriend, bro?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is harder to write than i thought and i keep having ideas for scenes i really can't put in yet so i'm having to write new stuff or whatever wow help

**DICK LORD:** _whoz free?_

 **BLACKIE CHAN:** _I am after 11, I just have to finish my economics work._

 **BLACKIE CHAN:** _Clyde, did you change the names in this chat?_

 **DICK LORD:** _pffft no that wuz craig_

 **GAYG FUCKER:** i hate you the most, clyde.

 **CRIPPLE NIPPLE:** _Not free sorry_

 **CRIPPLE NIPPLE:** _Dude reallyyyy_

 **DICK LORD:** _look, chat nicknamez r always tru. accept it_

 **GAYG FUCKER:** i’m doing my homework at the coffee house, tweek’s working today.

 **DICK LORD:** _cool, we’ll b there @ 12?_

 **GAYG FUCKER:** that wasn’t an invitation, clyde.

 **BLACKIE CHAN:** _Alright, see you there!_

 **GAYG FUCKER:** fuck you all.

When Craig puts his phone down, he notices Tweek’s rolled over and started mumbling into his pillow, fists loosely clutched around the sheets and Craig’s pajama pants (it’s not weird, he’s asleep.) He looks so peaceful, and as far as he’s aware, this is the first time Tweek’s slept in a couple of days – it wasn’t even for that long. The sunken circles under his eyes confirm that, and the last thing Craig wants to do is wake him up, but he knows it’s better to send a sleep-deprived Tweek to work than have him freak out about being late. “Twee-eek?” he hums, softly shaking the other boy’s shoulder. “Time for work.”

“Mmh,” he sighs, snuggling closer into Craig’s neck. His hair is unbelievably soft, and Craig has to fight hard not to let himself just go back to sleep.

“Tweek, c’mon,” he sighs, forcing himself to lean away.

“ _Craig_ ,” he sighs, voice dripping with sleep. “Staying... in bed... with you.”

“Goddamnit,” he curses. “You can’t, Tweekers, we’ve got to get up. You’re gonna be late for work.” Tweek grumbles, finally pushing himself into a sitting position and glaring at Craig. “Hey, it’s not my fault you told me not to let you be late. Want to shower?” he asks, Tweek standing up to yawn and trudge over to the bathroom. They’ve got their own set of towels because of how often Tweek stays over (it’s not gay, whatever Clyde says,) so he doesn’t need to do anything other than watch the door shut and hear the familiar _lock, unlock, lock_ and then the test of the handle to make sure it’s locked. He’s never felt the need to question why Tweek does this – he just _does_.

When he wanders downstairs to make Tweek a cup of coffee, his mom smiles at him from where she’s pouring Trisha her bowl of cereal. “You two were up late last night, hm?”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, flipping her off with his free hand. “Trish came in and Tweek was still awake, so he put her back to bed.”

“Oh no, I heard that bit. Poor baby,” she sighs. “I meant after that.”

“We were talking!” he protests. His and Tweek’s parents are basically the only people in South Park who insist they’re still together. They never really had a proper ‘break-up’ after that whole stupid elementary school thing in fourth grade; everybody just kind of accepted that they weren’t really ever together in the first place (other than their parents, of course. The Tweaks insist their ‘gay son’ is ‘good for business’, and Craig’s pretty sure his parents are sticking with it because of how much it annoys him when they bring it up.) Not that he’ll ever admit it, but he probably pretends to be more annoyed than he is. Like, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they were forced back together. Or, whatever. After pouring the coffee in and stirring it a little (black, two sugars) he walks it back upstairs, making sure to leave the spoon in before sitting on the floor to feed Stripe. For a guinea pig who spends a good portion of time spinning on a shitty plastic wheel, Stripe seems to be pretty happy. He never objects when Craig pulls him out to sit on the bed – on the contrary, he’s usually more than happy to take a nap on his lap or chest. By absolutely no means is Craig somebody who’s remotely interested in cute or cuddly things. He’s too cool for that. However, Stripe’s looking particularly loveable today, so maybe just a _quick_ snuggle is a good idea?

Craig nearly drops him when he hears the Snapchat camera noise from near the bathroom door.

“Priceless,” Tweek grins, presumably saving it before locking his phone and making grabby hands at the coffee. “I- I thought you- you hated cuddles?”

“Eat dicks. Stripe looked lonely.”

“Stripe l-looked adorable when you were- were nuzzling his cheek,” he reasons, taking a large gulp from Craig’s pokémon mug before pulling the towel off his head. His hair’s always an utter mess after he showers, because his concept of drying it is rubbing it with a towel so ferociously he somehow ends up charging it with electricity (or, that’s Clyde’s theory, at least.) All Craig knows is that it never really seems to calm down over the course of the day, continually sticking up in soft blonde tufts that he _really_ wants to spend a whole day running his fingers through. _What? That’s gay_ , he mentally scolds as he gently places Stripe back in his cage. Tweek’s obviously already completely dressed, bouncing on the back of his heels (he downed the coffee.) “C-can- can I go make my-myself some more coffee?” he rushes out, rolling his eyes when Craig sighs.

“You’ll just have another one as soon as you get to work, won’t you?”

“I’m m-making one anyway,” he decides, turning and hurrying out of the room. Craig doesn’t know whether to be glad that Tweek’s comfortable enough in his house to make his own coffee or worried about his intense caffeine consumption.

In the end, he just shrugs at Stripe and gets in the shower.

-

“What the fuck is up, fucker?” is what Clyde greets him with, far too loudly for the coffee shop. Surprisingly, he only gets a glare from two customers, and Tweek’s mom doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “Where’s your boyfriend, bro?”

Craig doesn’t look up from his physics homework until Token sits down next to him, passing him a half eaten pack of mini donuts. “What Clyde _means,_ is ‘hey Craig! Where’s Tweek?” he corrects, giving Clyde a Token-mom-friend-look that makes him pout, although Craig isn’t really sure why.

“He’s working in the back at the moment. His break’s at like, 2, so he’ll come sit with us then.”

“I thought he didn’t get breaks?” Clyde frowns

“Some guy threatened to report them to the police,” Token explains. “Again.” He’s referring to the whole ‘whoops, how did that meth get into our coffee’ incident that’s probably fucked up Tweek for the rest of his life. Sure, it obviously affected the whole town, but most people stopped in here for a coffee once a day, usually less. Tweek, however, had anywhere between three and eight cups a day. Craig screws up his face momentarily, remembering how he had to help him go through the withdrawals. He’d refused to go to rehab at first, sleeping through the first week of his parents facing the lawsuit for fuelling the biggest meth addiction in Colorado. It was weird, because Craig had convinced himself that he could help Tweek without needing to force him to rehab. That had lasted for about three days after the cravings started. They came out of nowhere, Tweek going from this depressed lump that spent a solid week in bed to a sweating mess who clawed at his skin until it bled and honestly looked like he was dying. When Craig had to talk him out of OD-ing, they made a joint decision to check him in to an inpatient recovery facility. It worked pretty well, actually, and they didn’t seem to mind that he was only fourteen. Everyone else was just told that he was staying with some aunt up in Aspen. South Park being South Park, nobody talked about it – they didn’t want to know.

“Bad times,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes and glaring at his homework. It’s relatively easy, but it’s still schoolwork, and that’s reminding him of his fucking awful grade in english.

“You alright, man? Did you get much sleep?” Token asks, pulling his macbook out of his bag and swiftly kicking Clyde in the shin when he calls him a rich kid.

“Nah. Um, Tricia was up again, and then so was Tweek,” he shrugs, trying to convey that he doesn’t care about looking sleep deprived. Tweek makes it work, so why can’t he? Clyde looks like he’s about to ask what’s going on, again, but now they’re face to face it’s a lot harder than ignoring his text about Tricia from last night. “Want to go smoke?” he quickly asks, ignoring the concerned look he’s getting from Token, because Clyde now easily has been distracted and that’s all he needed. On their way out the back (Tweek isn’t in there, so he must be running errands) he doesn’t miss Clyde winking at Mrs Tweak, but he elects to ignore it.

“Craig?” Clyde asks, lighting the cigarette Craig sticks in his mouth for him. “You know how I’m an idiot and have the attention span of a goldfish?”

“Yes,” he says, too quickly for the other boy’s liking. “And you’re incredibly gullible, overdramatic, embarrassing... wait, there’s definitely more...”

“ _Alright_ , that wasn’t where I wanted this conversation to go, asshole. My _point_ was that even though I’m an idiot, I’m not fucking stupid. Are you doing okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you haven’t been sleeping? Because Tricia is getting worse and you won’t talk to anyone about it?” he suggests, sighing when Craig scowls and flips him off. “Are you so heavily shrouded in like, sarcastic asshole aura that you can no longer express emotion?”

“Pretty much,” he decides, grinning a little when Clyde mutters _goddammit_ under his breath. He’s making it pretty clear to Clyde that he doesn’t want to talk about anything at the moment, but that’s the thing with Clyde – but that’s the thing with Clyde. He’s annoyingly (albeit lovingly) persistent. “I talk to Tweek,” he mutters, rolling his eyes when Clyde pretends not to hear. “I talk to Tweek. About stuff.”

“You’re replacing me with your boyfriend? _Dude!_ ”

“I’m not replacing you, dipshit- and Tweek and I _aren’t_ together,” he groans, the last part through gritted teeth. “I fucking hate you, Clyde.”

“See? Replacing me with Tweek has made you _hate_ me,” he sighs, sticking out his bottom lip. Craig is about to tell him that actually, he would hate Clyde regardless of whether he knew Tweek or not, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the back door banging open against the wall.

“I’m replacing Clyde?” Tweek asks innocently, laughing softly when they both jump. It’s the point in the day where his mom has started sticking random bobby pins in his hair just to tame it a little, even though it doesn’t have much of an impact.

“Yep,” Clyde says sadly, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall. “I used to be his super-duper-ultra best friend.”

“You’re super-duper-ultra gay,” Craig deadpans, taking a final drag before tossing it to the ground and crushing it under the heel of his converse. “I’m cold, too, and Token’s probably very lonely. You on your break yet?”

“N-not yet. Maybe- _ngh-_ an hour? Two?” he tells them, body practically thrumming with the amount of caffeine circulating in it. “Gotta go,” he hurries out, scurrying back inside before Craig can ask how many cups he’s had today. Clyde just laughs as Craig watches him go, yelping when he punches him in the arm,

Back inside, Craig’s theory about Token being lonely was half-right; if anything, he was more annoyed that he’d been left alone than the actual being alone. Clyde just tells him Craig was busy flirting with Tweek, and Token forgives him when he punches him in the arm again just a little harder than before. It’s overly warm inside, so for good measure he decides to take his hat off and pull it down over Clyde’s face (he just accepts it and lies his head on the table.) Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tweek behind the counter chatting with his mom and rearranging the cake display. She laughs at something he says and sticks another bobby pin in his hair when he stands back up. He grins nervously, batting her hands away and adjusting his sleeves, and it’s only when he glances over and smiles does Craig realise that he’s been staring for a solid 6 minutes. Token laughs when Craig flushes, shaking his head when he flips him off. “Enjoying the view?” he asks, laughing again when Craig makes an excuse about how actually, he just zoned out and wasn’t staring. Why would he be staring, anyway? It’s just Tweek.

Not that he can ever really describe Tweek as ‘just Tweek’, though. He’s too complex, too amazing for that.

 _That was gay too,_ his mind says, but somehow he cares a little less than he did earlier.

-

It’s stupid, how many times he re-writes his text. It’s Butters – they’ve been friends since fourth grade! And even if it did sound gay, it’s _Butters_ – he’s got to be right up there with Stan and all of the other ridiculously oblivious people around. (Kenny tried explaining this list to Craig once, just so he could show Craig how oblivious he himself was being, but he stopped paying attention when Kenny brought up Stan.) Eventually, he gives up, hating himself, and texts him _u okay? still grounded? xo._ The xo isn’t significant, because Kenny puts kisses on all of his texts, even if it’s usually as a joke. Not even a minute passes before he gets a text back saying _I’m alright! Nobody answered the door, so I just went for a walk. It’s awful chilly out, so if you’re coming make sure you wear your coat xx_

At this point, Kenny doesn’t know why he’s in denial. Butters is the cutest thing he’s ever fucking met. _if itz cold come over obvs? no heating but no wind nd i have blankets xo_ he texts back, probably a little too fast, but then Butters texts back even faster saying _Okay! I’ll be there soon xx_ and Kenny’s weirdly happy, letting him know to come up through the window (he’s put a ladder there because falling from the tree is easy to do and would probably result in sudden death) so he doesn’t disturb his dad, who’s presumably passed out on the couch. With lack of much else to do before Butters arrives, he gets in the shower because his hair kind of really needs a wash. Despite what he’s heard people who take cold showers for fun say, you never get used to not having warm water. All the girls at school who went through that diet-exercise-cold-shower phase because it boosts your metabolism were saying otherwise, but they were either lying to seem tough or lying about taking the cold showers in the first place.

Possibly the only good thing about a cold shower during a cold season is that there’s no sudden shock when you get out of it. Everyone’s always bitching about how _hard_ it is to shower in the mornings because of having to leave the warm water and step into the cold, but that’s not an issue with cold showers. You just move from cold water to cold air, and then warm yourself up again.

That’s the point he’s currently at, the rushing out to toss his clothes on after drying himself off as fast as possible. The only thing stopping him from finding a clean pair of boxers is the fact that a fully clothed Butters is sat on his bed, awkwardly maintaining silent eye contact for what’s probably a lot longer than necessary. “Hey, Butters,” he says cheerfully, not bothering to cover himself (it’s not like Butters definitely didn’t just intensely look) as he walks over to his drawers and picks a pair out of the top one. His ass is hardly Kyle’s ass, but it’s not bad, so he doesn’t mind Butters staring for as long as he wants. “You were quicker than I thought you’d be, huh.”

“Um,” is all he says in response, nose intensely red as he furiously stares at his knees.

“Aww, are you embarrassed ‘cause I was naked?”

“Uh- well, maybe a teeny bit.”

“Don’t worry!” he grins, pulling a black t-shirt he recognises as Stan’s off the floor and yanking it on. “I’m sure I’ll see you naked soon enough, and then we’ll be even.” Butters just makes a weird noise from the back of his throat as his whole face flushes, becoming an even darker red when Kenny laughs at him. “So whaddya wanna do?”

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s your choice, with me bein’ the guest ‘n all.”

Kenny pulls on his jeans and coat before jumping onto the bed next to the other boy. “I’m down for whatever. I can ring Stan and see if he and Kyle are about, if you want? Or we can stay here.”

“If it’s okay, I’d rather stay here. I don’t get on with them too well.”

“Kyle’s really different now, y’know. They were all assholes when we were kids- and yeah, Cartman’s still a big asshole, and Stan’s still a medium asshole. But Kyle, man. Give him another chance.” Butters stays quiet, shoulders tensed. “For me?”

“Oh, fine – he can’t be that bad if you like him that much, Ken- but, if you don’t mind, I’d really rather just stay here for the day.”

“ _Exactly_. And that’s fine, dude. We can rekindle your dead friendship with Kyle like, tomorrow or something. I only suggested ‘cause Kyle has an Xbox and a warm house.”

“I’d take spending time with you over playing an Xbox any day, Ken!” he beams, and it’s so fucking sweet that it’s nearly sickening. “Even if we aren’t doing anything. That means we can talk all day, right?”

Kenny’s heart nearly explodes, right then and there, but he forces it to settle because God can suck his dick if he thinks Kenny’s okay with dying in this moment.

In the end, he ends up taking Karen to Jimbo’s and having Butters watch in awe as he teaches her to shoot the little metal cans he has lined up around the back. She’s nearly twelve now, but she’s still so _tiny_ and sweet in a way that Kenny doesn’t think anyone else in that house could ever be. Realistically, she’s the only one of them who has a chance at actually doing something with her life. Kevin’s so drunk he’s killed most of his brain cells, and Kenny doesn’t really care enough to try, so he’ll never get anywhere. Karen, though. She’s the best thing he’ll ever have. His schoolwork doesn’t seem that important compared to her asking for help with her own – he’s a lost cause anyway, right?

Later on, when they’re sitting back in Kenny’s bed with Butters’ laptop (Kenny snuck back in through his window to get it when his parents were having dinner out,) he voices all of this. Butters softly punches his arm and tells him not to say that, that he’s not a lost cause and he will get wherever he wants to get. Kenny says he doesn’t mind if he flunks school, he can just live with Butters when he becomes rich and famous.

School has never seemed less significant compared to how much that makes Butters smile.


	4. addicted to the way i feel when i think of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig’s sat tapping his leg in time to whatever shitty music’s just come onto the radio in Tricia’s room and leaning over his english test in frustration when Tweek bursts in, throwing his backpack at Craig’s bed before collapsing on it. “You’ll n-never fucking- ngh- guess wh-what I saw.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this tbh i feel like it should be better sorry! also i changed biology to english in case i need to go into more detail later (i can't do biology.)

After a whole Saturday night of getting sickeningly high, he makes a decision.

Realistically, the only thing holding him back is himself, right?

After all, just like Cartman says when he’s about to do something painfully stupid: you never know until you try. Yeah, Eric might be using it as an excuse to get away with doing really dumb shit, but Kenny decides then and there, at the glorious hour of 3:17 whilst he’s hanging upside down from his bed, that it will become his life motto. The first example: he’s never really tried in school, because he’s always assume he’ll amount to _very_ little (and anything he did ever achieve could never be academic). As a result of this, he’s never bothered with schoolwork – it’s hardly like his parents care when he gets into trouble anyway. But _now_ , he resolves, watching the letters on his wall morph into blotchy red snakes and start moving around, he’s going to give a shit. He’s going to try. He’ll do it for the red snakes, if anyone.

Example 2: he’s never bothered trying to tell anyone about that whole ‘i can’t die’ thing since they were all kids playing superheroes and nobody remembered him killing himself. Stan thought he was kidding, even though he’d watched him blow his brains out the day before. Understandably, he hasn’t tried to tell anyone since then – but that didn’t stop Karen from remembering. He doesn’t know how the fuck it happened, if he’s being honest: one day, he woke up after being dismembered by a flying chunk of glass, and Karen was sat by his bed with a cup of water.

_“You died last night,” she’d said, lip not even remotely wobbling, which was strange for her._

_“Yeah,” he replied, not really sure how else to respond. Part of him thought she was kidding._

_“You die all the time. You used to die every day.”_

_“Yeah,” he said again. What?_

_“I used to think I was having bad dreams, but I don’t think I am anymore. All of your guts came out of your tummy. You told me to remember. And that other time, where you shot yourself and your friend Kyle came and told me, and then he didn’t remember. Or that time you died but then you didn’t come back and I was waiting and waiting and daddy said you weren’t coming back because dead people **stay** dead and I said you didn’t, you never do, but he didn’t-”_

_“Karen,” he said softly, taking the cup of water from her and placing it on his bedside. “It’s real. But I’m back now, aren’t I?”_

Since that happened a good few years ago, she’d never forgotten. Kenny had always kind of wanted to properly figure out what had made her realise, but he was also too scared of saying the wrong thing and making her forget somehow.

The point is, he’s only really ever tried telling Stan and Kyle – sure, other people have seen him die, but he’s never begged them to remember like he has with those two. So he’s going to try again. Only this time, he’ll start with someone he’s never told: Craig. And he will _not_ get upset or angry again if Craig doesn’t remember.

The third example: Butters. Does he have to say anything else?

-

Weirdly, he’s not even nervous when Butters comes in through the doors of the coffee shop (okay, maybe he’s still a little high.) He’s just excited. “Hey, Ken!” he beams, and Kenny’s stomach churns. How can someone be nervous around _that_? “What’s up? It sounded real urgent on the phone.”

“Oh, nothing,” he says coyly, grinning when Butters scrunches his eyebrows together. “It’s just been far too long since I’ve seen you, is all.”

Butters sighs, cheeking reddening a little as he sits down. “I saw you yesterday, Ken.”

“Exactly! Too long. Anyway,” he grins as Butters momentarily buries his face in his hands. “I need your professional, buttery help with something.” Butters makes a noise, most likely because his help was just described as buttery, but Kenny carries on regardless. “Have you ever had a really, really, _really_ , fuck-off-massive crush on someone?”

“Um. Maybe, uh. Why, Ken?”

“How would you go about telling this person?”

“Geez, that’s a real tough question. Well, have you tried being all subtle about it?”

Kenny laughs, despite himself. “Oh yeah, dude, I’ve tried that. They didn’t _quite_ pick it up. Ever. Like, the hints are getting more and more obvious and they still aren’t getting it.” Bless him – Butters is fucking amazing, but he’s a little slow.

“Well then, you’ve just gotta be real obvious, right! Just sit ‘em down and tell them that you have a great stinkin’ crush on them!”

“Okay... Butters, I have a great stinking crush on you.”

“Yeah! Just like that, okay!”

Kenny stares at him for possibly close to a minute without saying anything. Really? Like, seriously?

_Seriously?_

“What’d I do?” he frowns, and Kenny kind of wants to hit him, just a little, to knock some sense into him. He’s worked his way up to this all morning, and that’s the response he’s given. Butters never seemed this stupid before. “Kenny?” he asks, beginning to sound a little worried as Kenny realises he’s _still_ staring at the kid and _still_ hasn’t said anything. It’s a little too crowded in the coffee shop, but he’s so done that he doesn’t really care – besides, they’re tucked away in the corner, anyways. So he does the only rational, logical thing in this situation. He reaches over the table, clenches his fist around Butters’ stupid green jacket to pull him in, and kisses him.

For a second, Butters doesn’t really react other than letting out a surprised noise from the back of his throat and Kenny freezes, worrying he’s done the wrong thing. He doesn’t have time to let go of Butters before he fists a hand in Kenny’s hair and starts kissing him back, though, soft and slightly inexperienced and the best kiss he’s ever had.

After a couple of minutes, from somewhere that feels really far away, Tweek clears his throat next to him. Butters being Butters, he jumps away and goes bright red. “You- you can’t do th- _that_ in here,” he chuckles, laughing properly when Butters hides his face. “One ofthe c-customers just complained.”

Kenny laughed back, scanning the room to meet eyes with a very grumpy looking 90-something woman who’s glaring at the both of them. Obviously, Kenny cheerfully waves at her. “Okay! That’s fine, me and Butters can just go back to my house,” he decides, winking at Butters just to see how red he goes (the answer is something similar to a raspberry.) “Do me a favour and maybe don’t tell anyone about that?” he requests, giving Tweek a toothy grin when he nods. “Cheers, dude. C’mon, Butters.” Butters complies without saying anything, standing up and nervously thanking Tweek before following him out of the coffee shop and into the cold.

Instantly, he pulls his hood back up, but leaves his mouth uncovered for once (just in case.) South Park being what it is, it’s somehow _still_ rapidly getting colder and colder every day. It's early November so the snow's been around for a couple months now, but  Kenny thinks it’s going to start _really_ snowing soon. As much as he hates the cold and equally loves the summer, blizzards are pretty fucking cool.

“You kissed me,” Butters says simply, a little quieter than usual.

“You kissed me back,” Kenny counters without skipping a beat.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to. I always want to.” It’s two simple sentences, but they still make the smaller boy stop in his tracks, staring dumbly at the pavement. “Remember that great stinking crush? That’s on you, dude.”

Butters hasn’t started walking again, but he’s started smiling. “Oh.”

“Come on, stupid,” he laughs, taking the other boy’s hand and leading him towards his house. “Let’s go watch old Friends recordings and make out on my bed.”

-

Craig’s sat tapping his leg in time to whatever shitty music’s just come onto the radio in Tricia’s room and leaning over his english test in frustration when Tweek bursts in, throwing his backpack at Craig’s bed before collapsing on it. “You’ll n-never fucking- _ngh-_ guess wh-what I saw,” he says, sounding too suspicious and simultaneously really happy for Craig to properly ignore him.

“What?” he asks, stretching out over the back of his chair and letting his back slowly crack.

“Kenny- Kennyand Butters making out,” he rushes out, almost proud that he’s able to relay this to Craig.

He turns around, discarding the awful test and properly looking at Tweek. There are even more bobby pins in his hair than usual, and the band-aids covering his fingers where he bites and picks the skin are multicoloured. “ _What_?”

“R-right there in the shop, I-I swear.”

“Holy _fuck_.” Now he owed Kyle 20 bucks - he'd bet him that Kenny wouldn't make a move until after graduation. “Dude.” Damnit.

“I’m gonna- _ngh-_ have a- a nap.”

“You can’t nap now, dipshit, you won’t sleep tonight.”

“I- I haven’tslept for sixty-three hours,” he yawns, and Craig properly looks at the bags under his eyes. Even on a good day, they’re always there, but now he’s focusing on them he can see that this is the worst they’ve been in weeks. Tweek and sleep don’t mix very well, but Craig thought that last night would’ve helped.

“Wait, didn’t you sleep last night? It took me ages to wake you up.”

“I was- was like halfway be- between sleepand awake. Does- does that count?”

Craig sighs, properly abandoning the test to go and sit on the side of the bed next to Tweek. “Not really. Y’know, one day you’re gonna like, collapse everywhere from exhaustion.”

“It- it’s not _my_ fault I- I can’t sleep. A-and how do you collapse- collapse everywhere?”

“I mean, if you didn’t drink 70 fucking cups of coffee every day you’d probably find getting to sleep a lot easier- and fuck you, it’s still a valid point.” Tweek just shrugs, individually cracking all of his knuckles before standing up again. “It’s just gone 6 – if you stay up until 9 then you should sleep through the night.”

“Fine. What should I d- do to keepme a-awake?”

“Help me with my english.”

He wrinkled his nose in mock disgust, but walked over to Craig’s desk anyway. “I thought K-Kyle was- was tutoring you?”

“He gave up,” Craig sighed, swivelling back around in his chair and glaring at the big grade that’s been circled in angry red marker. It shouldn’t be that hard. “I fucking hate english.”

“Why? It- it’s easy,” he frowns, stepping back slightly when Craig gives him the worst glare he can muster. “Sorry.”

After Craig agrees to make him a hot chocolate (to keep him going,) Tweek sits down with him on top of his mom’s exercise ball (he’s only got one chair) for a solid two hours and just works through the test with him. Admittedly, Craig’s understanding doesn’t massively increase, but Tweek doesn’t get frustrated like Kyle does, so it’s easier to keep going. During the dinner that Laura makes for them once and reluctantly lets them eat in Craig’s room, Tweek decides that as payment for him helping Craig bring up his english grade, Tweek will be tutored in maths (something he’s painfully bad at) by Craig. A win-win situation is how he describes it, which makes Tweek laugh again, and Craig likes that.

Later, when Tweek essentially collapses into bed just after 8:30, Craig goes downstairs to let his mom knows Tweek is staying and to say goodnight to Tricia, who’s lying on the floor by the front door and trying to arrange herself in a perfectly straight line. When she asks him if he’ll lie down next to her, he reluctantly obliges, squeezing her hand until she gets up. It’s like there are two different Tricia’s – there’s this one, the one who seems really far away from her own body and relies on Craig to bring her back. Then there’s the other one, the one who doesn’t knock and flips him off all the time but still asks for lifts home. The second Tricia is definitely the most annoying person he’s ever met, but he still loves her either way (not that he will _ever_ tell her that. Her ego would explode.)

“Will Tweek still be awake?”

“Dunno. He’s really tired. Come have a look, though.”

Surprisingly, he’s still awake, eyes red from straining them so hard. He still smiles massively when Tricia comes in to say goodnight – from Craig’s understanding, as an only child with a mediocre relationship with his parents he’s never really had a sibling figure in his life, so the amount of attention Tricia shows him means tons. And honestly, he really doesn’t mind when everyone says she prefers Tweek over him. He would prefer Tweek over him too.

When he gets into bed and flicks the TV on, Tweek sits up next to him as if he’s about to watch it, persistently ignoring the way his eyelids are trying to force themselves closed. “Dude, seriously. Go the fuck to bed.”

“’m nottired anymore,” he mumbles.

“That’s funny, you don’t _look_ not tired.” Tweek dutifully ignores him, slumping against the headboard and determinedly staring at the fuzzy TV screen. Craig sighs. “If I lie down with you, will you get some fucking sleep?”

“That’s gay,” he points out, but he’s already yawning, so Craig takes that as a yes and rearranges the pillows before lying down. “I don’t- don’t wanna go to- to sleep.”

“Why? I’ll be right here if you wake up. The windows are all locked, and so’s the front door – I checked when I went downstairs.” He didn’t, but Tweek can’t tell, and he doesn’t need to know. “C’mon, lie down. You need to get some sleep, okay?”

“N-nah.”

“ _Goddamnit Tweek I’m fucking worried about you just fucking **go to sleep** , okay_?”

Tweek blinks at his outburst a couple of times, too tired to argue back but still surprised. Eventually, he shrugs and drops onto the pillow, not closing his eyes until Craig is lying down next to him. After two episodes of red racer (which he doesn’t watch properly anymore, just when he’s going to sleep) and twenty minutes of mindless instagram scrolling, Tweek starts stirring and muttering weird shit under his breath. Craig rolls his eyes (because he always does this,) slings an arm around him to pull him closer and waits for him to shut up. He does, but not before drooling on Craig’s collarbone. 


	5. we'll make them so jealous; all the ways you make my stomach turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we’re talking about realism, you’re realistically more likely to be wrong than right.”
> 
> “We aren’t talking about realism, you fucking vagina, we’re talking about you and Tweek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has gay sex-y stuff! i've never actually written any of that before, so tell me if it's bad and i'll be sure to miss it out in the future.

Craig wakes up at what he feels to be anywhere between 11pm and 5am judging from the pitch black sky outside. It’s too vague of a time-boundary for him to not check, but only after the red letters are blinking 02:38 at him does he realise that Tweek is meant to be in the bed and he’s very much not. He’s not sat on the end of the bed, either, which is sometimes what he does when he can’t sleep and thinks he’s going to be suffocated by the duvet covers. Craig’s second-to-last resort is to see if he’s woken up Stripe for some entertainment, which is also common when he wants to distract himself, but even when Craig flicks his lamp on, his room is empty. When he tries calling Tweek and his phone rings from the bedside table, Craig starts to worry. It’s not unheard of for him to do this – sometimes he just wanders off for a walk to calm himself down – but it’s not exactly safe for him to be ambling around South Park in the dead of night, most likely tired enough to walk out in front of a car. With that exact image in his mind, he springs out of bed and starts throwing on whatever clothes he can find. Tweek claims never to get cold (hence why he only wears one layer in the depths of snowy winter when everyone else is in thick coats and gloves) but Craig brings a coat for him to wear anyway, just in case he’s somehow fallen in Stark’s Pond or something.

After a minute of half debating as to whether he should leave a note saying where he is and half pulling on his sneakers, he hastily scribbles one and leaves it on the table before running out. Just for precaution, he texts pretty much everyone on his phone asking if he’s seen him before heading towards the broken down development near Kenny’s where they used to play as kids. Nobody really goes around to the shitty new development that was built when they were kids – its popularity lasted a month, at best, and years later when everything’s kind of breaking, nobody really cares. The buildings that were squeezed right up next to Kenny’s house are essentially gone due to everyone that’s come and gone (and paid rent to Kenny’s dad) but there are still a couple taller ones a bit of a walk away.

 **CRAIG’S #2 BITCH:** _my dad sed  he mite b on ustorit_

 **CRAIG TUCKER:** u-stor-it? how’s he know that?

 **CRAIG’S #2 BITCH:** _yeh he jst got bk from wrk n thort he saw him there_

 **CRAIG TUCKER:** thanks clyde.

They sit up there occasionally, usually when it’s a bit warmer, and Craig points out all the constellations he can see because Tweek’s the only friend he has that seems to actually care about how interested he is in stars and shit. It kind of gives him a duty to listen to all of Tweek’s conspiracy theories that range from incredibly plausible to ridiculously unrealistic – not that he actually really minds, though. Most of them are really interesting, and it’s fun debating the possibility of the really out-there ones. Then again, it might just be interesting because it’s Tweek; he throws himself into things like this, lit up eyes and constantly moving body (not that he ever properly sits still.)

Clyde, for once, is completely right and has produced incredibly reliable information. Craig ends up jogging there to get there as soon as possible, and when he’s climbed the fence he sees Tweek sat cross legged on the nearest storage block, staring up at the sky. He doesn’t announce himself until he’s clambered up the ladder, panting slightly when he finally gets next to Tweek. “You asshole,” he sighs, sitting down next to him with a dull clunk.

“ _Agh_! Jesus Christ, Craig!” he yelps, scrambling back a little out of shock. “You- you scared me!”

“No, you fucking scared the shit out of _me_. If you need fresh air or open space or whatever the fuck you’re out here for, that’s fine, but at least take your fucking phone, okay? Or – I don’t know, leave a shitty note or something.”

Tweek doesn’t speak for a while, just pulls his knees up to his chest and numbly stares at them. Craig’s still sweating from running in such thick clothing so he sheds his coat and tucks it around Tweek’s shoulders without a second thought, ignoring him when he frowns. “Y-you- you were- _ngh_ \- worried?”

Craig sinks his head into his hands, giving an extra exasperated sigh just to make sure Tweek knows how stupid he is. “You’re fucking stupid,” he adds, just to triple make sure. “Of _course_ I was fucking worried! Earlier you’re telling me you haven’t slept in days, and then I wake up and you _aren’t there_!” There’s more distress in his voice than he’d care to admit, but Tweek looks kind of guilty now, so he stops talking. “I- just take your goddamn phone next time, okay?” he sighs, voice softer now that Tweek’s obviously gotten the message.

The blond boy just nods, shuffling back into his side and resting his head on Craig’s shoulder. His soft hair is ticking Craig’s cheek as he determinedly ignores the weird pit in his stomach. “I didn’t want- _ngh-_ to wake you up,” he murmurs. “You- you’ve not been sleep- sleeping properly because of- _ngh_ \- Tricia and everything.”

“You’ve not been sleeping, period.”

Tweek laughs softly, and Craig’s anger melts a little. “I’m used to- to that.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Tweek just shrugs, and Craig doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. _It is what it is_ , is what was just said, and that’s just the truth. Realistically, Tweek would probably be sleeping if he could, but when his mind decides it doesn’t want him to sleep then he can’t. It’s far from ideal, obviously, but it’s not his fault. He’s tried lots of variations of sleeping pills, like most people in town, but all he found was that they’d give him horrific nightmares that he wasn’t able to wake up from – it got to the point where he was sleeping even less than before because he was so afraid of them, so he stopped taking them. Now they’re back at square one, Tweek too afraid of side effects and developing another addiction that he’s firmly refusing to try anything he hasn’t already tried (not that there’s much.)

“Have you ever considered seeing a therapist?” he asks, receiving the reaction he’d pretty much already expected.

“What? No fucking- _ngh-_ way! What if- if they weren’t who- _ngh-_ who they said they were? They c-could record me a-and send it to the- the government! Or- or-”

“Tweek,” he soothes, turning to properly face the smaller boy. “I could check them out for you, if that would help; like all their reviews and meet them and stuff. Anything.” Tweek starts chewing on his lip and tapping his fingers on his shin methodically, otherwise staying extremely still. Like the door-locking thing, it’s just something he _does_ when he’s thinking. If he’s sat up, he’ll shake his legs in certain patterns, always. Craig decides to start calling them Tweekisms. It makes sense.

“Would-” he pauses to clear his throat and sharply inhale, slowly breathing out when Craig squeezes his knee in comfort. “Would you come- come with me?”

“Like, actually sit in the session with you?” he frowns.

Tweek being Tweek, he picks up on the unease instantly. “Y-you don’t- _ngh-_ have to!” he rushes out.

“No- I don’t mind at all, it’s not that. I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with, but like. Isn’t therapy meant to be a private thing?”

He shrugs, picking at the sole of his shoe instead of meeting Craig’s eyes. “I guess, but- but you know- _ngh-_ everything aboutme anyway.”

“ _Everything_?”

“Pretty much.”

“Alright then,” he says, breathing out a small sigh of relief when Tweek smiles. “I’ll work on finding someone and I’ll let you know. Any preferences?”

“Uh... nice?”

“Obviously, dickhead. I’ll find a couple and you can choose, unless you want me to. Now, d’you wanna head back yet? It’s pretty fucking cold.”

“Okay!” he beams, standing up and stretching enough for Craig to hear his back pop before letting out a massive yawn. Hopefully, he’ll fall asleep as soon as they get in and then he won’t be painfully exhausted tomorrow (then again, there’s a large chance he won’t sleep until his body actually shuts down. It’s happened before – he’d gone nine and a half days without sleep and collapsed mid-sentence in the cafeteria.) Craig’s half asleep for the majority of the walk home, floating along through the cold air listening to Tweek talk about how pigeons are spy devices and have been ever since the middle ages. When Tweek takes his hand to guide him around cracks in the sidewalk and lampposts he almost walks into, it feels normal.

-

“You’re in _love_ with him,” Kenny decides, as he ashes too close to Craig’s hand for his own good, “it’s realistically the only possible explanation.”

“It’s realistically not,” is all Craig has the energy to counter back with, flipping the other boy off when he gently kicks sand at him. “If we’re talking about realism, you’re realistically more likely to be wrong than right.”

“We aren’t talking about realism, you fucking vagina, we’re talking about you and Tweek.”

Craig sighs, extending his arm without looking in an attempt to burn Kenny (who has the reflexes of a fast awake person, so obviously moves.) “Okay, so one – never call me a vagina again. Two – why can’t I be close with my best friend?”

“You can! There’s nothing gay about friendship, most of the time, but I’m just saying what I’m seeing. I also think you’re misunderstanding how it feels to be in love.”

“I’m not thick, McCormick, but I am tired as shit, so if you really fucking insist on having this conversation then it’s happening when I’m more awake and not behind the shitty bike sheds.” Kenny grins, because basically that’s a success. It’s probably good timing, too, because just before Craig’s about to punch him for continuing to talk, Tweek sticks his head around the corner. It’s almost hard not to physically wince at how fucking tired he looks (and Kenny thought Craig had looked like shit.) “Come sit,” yawns Craig, patting the sand next to him. Kenny’s sat on the wall behind them, a couple meters away from one of the goths. He’s unsure of his name, but they’ve reached a nod-basis, and occasionally he’ll pay attention if Kenny talks to him, which is basically a friendship. Tweek immediately takes the smoke from between Craig’s fingers as Craig sits back and actually lets him.

“I didn’t know you smoked, Tweek.”

“I- not properly,” he says, blowing his smoke in Craig’s face. “Notlike you guys- just whenever Craig’s got- got one.”

“Leech,” he sighs, but he’s smiling anyway. Kenny files that (meaning the fact that Tweek just took Craig’s cigarette and not only did Craig not object, he _smiled_ ) under his mental list of _how to convince Craig Tucker he’s in love with Tweek Tweak._ It’s a nice little list, and Butters and Token have both been helping add to it; he’d ask Clyde too, because he’s probably Craig’s closest friend bar Tweek, but as much as Kenny likes the kid he absolutely does not trust him not to say anything. Bless him – he’s not even snaky, he’s just stupid. “Where’s Butters, then?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Craig hums, flicking Tweek in the ear when he tries to keep the smoke away from him. “He’s just constantly glued to your side, so it’s weird for you to be alone.”

“Suck a dick,” he says gleefully, pointing at Tweek and mimicking a blowjob when his back is turned. Craig flips him off with as much anger as possible without alerting the boy next to him. “He doesn’t like the smoke, so he’s sat with Cartman.”

“Why the- _ngh-_ fuck would- would anyone vol- voluntarily sit with _Cartman_?”

“Butters doesn’t really have the capacity to hate anyone. He feels sorry for him. _Somehow_.” Kenny shrugs, taking a final drag and flicking it down into the sand next to Craig. “So, what are you guys doing tonight?”

Craig turns around with a disinterested expression, which is pretty much what Kenny expected. “It’s a fucking Monday. I’m going home and going to bed.” Kenny raises his eyebrow at this, pulling that _face_ when Tweek also turns around. “You’re pulling your ‘ask me what I’m doing, Craig’ face, so I’m not going to ask you,” he informs him before turning back around. Kenny pouts and Tweek sighs, rubbing one of his eyes.

“Kenny, what are- are _you_ doing t-tonight?”

“Wow, Tweek, I wasn’t going to mention it, but-” he begins, swiftly ducking when Craig blindly chucks Tweek’s empty coffee cup at him. “I’m actually heading over to casa de la Butters. His parents are working late, see.”

“Basically, you’re gonna fuck Butters.”

Tweek wrinkles his nose. “You- you can’t fuck Butters. He’s waytoo innocent.”

“I never said I was gonna do that- where’s your faith in me? I would _never_ ruin somebody’s innocence.”

“You’re a walking innocence-ruiner, McCormick,” Craig retorts, letting out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh when Kenny makes a noise of extreme protest. He is _not._ That being said, he _definitely_ wouldn't say no if Butters wanted to do absolutely anything – that ranging from making cupcakes to fucking on his desk. Really, whatever he wants to do. “You’re drooling, asshole, stop picturing it.”

“No,” Kenny says gleefully, sticking his hands in his pockets before hopping down off of the wall and walking towards to cafeteria. Maybe they could make cupcakes and _then_ fuck?

 

It’s kind of weird how the transition didn’t make a huge difference – sure, Kenny gets to hold his hands and kiss him and do loads of gross PDA shit that makes Eric gag, but other than Butters acting a little more nervous and actually picking up on Kenny’s awful pick-up lines, it’s not that different. Despite their practically opposite personalities, Butters is essentially his best friend, so he could look at this as the next tier of that friendship (except it’s super gay.) None of his friends other than Eric even really cared about the change, and Kenny doesn’t really care about anyone else’s opinion on it (other than Karen’s, but she loves Butters, so he’s expecting her to be incredibly happy.) Neither of them are planning on telling their parents – Kenny _may_ tell his mum in the distant future if it carries on working out, but he’d probably get beaten if he told his dad, and Butters wouldn't ever be allowed to leave the house. Oh well. Kenny can live with it being a secret. It’s nice, in a way; their own little thing.

 

As soon as they get into Butters’ room, Kenny rushes forwards and collapses onto his bed, marvelling and how soft the pillows are. It’s immaculately clean, like normal, with more and more hand drawn revision posters papering the walls in neat succession. “Your room is so nice,” he yawns, rolling over to bury his face into the pillows.

Next to him, he feels the bed sink down. “Aw, geez, thanks Ken. Yours is real cool too.”

“Mine’s a fucking tip,” he laughs, “and it’s half fallen apart.”

“Your name’s on the wall! You can’t say that isn’t cool.”

Kenny just laughs again, rolling back over to face the other boy. Trust him to find that cool. “So,” he says, leaning forward just far enough to brush the tip of his nose against Butters’, “what should we do?”

“Geez, um... have you got any homework you wanna do?” he suggests weakly, heavily swallowing when Kenny laughs.

“I was thinking something more exciting than _homework_ , really. But whatever you wanna do, I’m down with.” Butters is flushed again, but there’s a look on his face that Kenny can’t quite make out. “Any ideas?”

“Well, I think I’ve come up with a pretty good one,” he announces, sitting up and motioning for Kenny to sit up. Confused, he happily obliges, crossing his legs and patiently waiting. “Right, Ken, um... Can I sit on your lap?” he asks, rushing out the words and then determinedly staring at his knees, almost as if he’s waiting for Kenny to say no.

Which, because he’s not fucking stupid, doesn’t happen. “Sure!” he beams, patting his thighs and then leaning back on his hands whilst Butters awkwardly clambers on. At first, he’s kind of a mess of knees, but Kenny announces that this ‘simply won’t do’ and pulls his legs forward so they’re behind him and Butters’ ass is essentially in the best place possible. “This what you had in mind?”

Wordlessly, Butters unzips Kenny’s coat and pulls his hood down, staring at him with slight unease yet tonnes of adoration. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers, chewing on his lips nervously. Kenny laughs, sliding his arms around the other boy’s back.

“You never, _ever_ have to ask me to do that,” he says, and that’s all it takes. Butters shoots forward and kisses him, fingers lacing through his hair and enough enthusiasm to knock Kenny over in a heartbeat. It’s so different and so much _more_ than any random hook-up’s ever been that he’s not really sure how to cope. Butters is awkward and inexperienced and probably never even touched somebody else’s dick before but it’s still the best kiss Kenny’s ever had. And despite the experience he’s somewhat proud of, he’s never been with anyone like Butters – mainly crack whores with big tits (only the ones that wash) and closeted muscly guys from the football team. But Butters has these incredibly soft hands and thick thighs and _ass_ , Jesus Christ, and part of Kenny wants to kiss him forever. The other part wants to fuck him so hard the bed breaks, though, so he lets that part of him slide his hands up the back of his t-shirt and enjoy the way Butters shivers slightly. Unsurprisingly, he’s already half-hard, so he decides to make the most of having a really sweet ass pressed up against his groin and ever so slightly grinds his hips up. The second a little noise escapes the back of his throat Butters pulls away; his lips are even plumper than usual and slick with spit, and Kenny presses up against his ass again just to be able to deal with it.

“You- you’re hard,” he says, almost sounding a little shocked.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Kenny grins, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Maybe Butters isn’t ready to go any further than this? (Obviously, Kenny doesn’t mind, because the second Butters doesn’t want to do something, he doesn’t either.)

“No,” he says, furiously chewing his bottom lip and not registering Kenny’s eyes following the movement. “Me- me too.” It’s a definite whisper this time, like he’s embarrassed. Just to test the waters, Kenny removes his hand from the smooth skin on his back (but takes care to lightly drag his nails down as he moves, because Butters lets out this little gasp that Kenny wants firmly implanted in his mind) and experimentally gives the other boy’s cock a little squeeze. Instantly, he shifts forward slightly and lets out this tiny whine that almost make Kenny’s eyes roll back into his head.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he hums, right next to Butters’ ear as he continues to grope his cock through his jeans. The noises he’s making are barely audible but still unbelievably obscene, and Kenny desperately wants to do whatever it takes to make him louder.

“I- I don’t mind,” he says, inhaling sharply as Kenny grinds upwards again. “Anything,” he eventually chokes out.

“Can I suck you off?”

Butters makes a noise that sounds like a yes, but Kenny waits for the frantic nod he gets before he half-lifts half-throws him off of his lap and down onto the bed. The kiss he gets when he leans back down is a lot dirtier, which he didn’t really think Butters was capable of, but then he grazes his teeth against Kenny’s lip and Kenny almost loses it. Overcome by how _needy_ his little noises are already, Kenny starts fiddling with the button on Butters’ jeans as he presses open mouthed kisses past his jaw to the collar of his loose t-shirt. The risk of any marks he leaves getting seen is too high, so he leaves the t-shirt on for now and instead focuses on the pale strip of skin now visible that he’s started wiggling the jeans down. Loose fingers on his shoulders suddenly tighten so he stops, resting his chin on Butters’ hip as he looks at him. “You okay? I can stop whenever you want me to,” he says softly.

“No! It's just- well, I don’t really know if I can do this to you,” he confesses.

“I don’t care. I’m not doing this just so you’ll do it back, Butters. I’m doing it because I want to. Do you still want me to?”

“Mm-hmm,” he nods, letting his head fall back against the mattress and lifting his hips for Kenny to properly pull down his jeans down to mid-thigh. He’s got bright red boxers on with the kind of tightness that doesn’t leave much to the imagination, the lightest dusting of hair trailing down from his belly button past the waistband. Kenny doesn’t realise he’s been staring, marvelling at essentially every part that he can see until Butters makes another needy noise, something that kind of sounds enough like Kenny’s name for his insides to melt a little. He drops back down, starting to suck marks into the pale skin just under his hipbones and lavishing in the quiet, breathy noises that he’s given in return. “Ken,” he pleads, reaching down to gently tug on his hair, and well, Kenny’s hardly going to say _no_. With what he’s pretty sure is a swift movement he tugs down the boxers and instantly starts tonguing the head of Butter’s cock. Unable to buck his hips up due to Kenny’s firm hold on them, his fingers tighten around his hair as he tips his head back and lets out a moan so filthy it’s pornographic. Wanting to hear more and preferably as loud as possible, Kenny sinks his head down further, the sharp breaths and keening whines that are filling the room shooting straight to his own cock. Butters is tugging on his hair so tightly that he can’t help the moan that bubbles up in his throat, pulling off with a small _pop_ when he yanks his hands away.

“Don’t stop doing that,” he instructs, pleased with how much he’s able to hold his voice together.

“I- I thought it hurt?”

“No, dumbass, I made that noise because I _liked_ it,” he says, waiting until Butters laces his fingers back into Kenny’s messy hair before he sinks his mouth back down onto his cock. This time, however, he replaces one of his hands and lets Butters fuck his throat. He sneaks a look up at the other boy, mainly to check if he’s okay, but instead he’s greeted with realistically the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Butters’ eyes are screwed shut but his jaw is slack, face flushed and sweaty as high-pitched moans spill out into the stuffy bedroom. Kenny can’t help but groan at the sight, the vibrations on Butters’ cock being enough to set him off. He swallows as much as possible before pulling off, wiping the excess cum off of his mouth with the hem of his t-shirt. After that, he just sits back on his heels and grins toothily at Butters, overly pleased with himself as the other boy catches his breath.

“Jesus,” he pants, pulling up his boxers with one hand and pushing his hair off his forehead with the other. “I- you’re real good at that.”

“I try my hardest.” Kenny pushes the heel of his palm against his cock for just a _tiny_ bit of relief, trying and failing to be subtle about it. “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go and jerk off in your bathroom.”

“W-why not do it in here? I think that's a real good idea,” Butters asks with this little innocent smile. Kenny’s starting to see that really, he isn’t that innocent at all.

Kenny swallows, raising his eyebrows slightly. “I mean, I can if you want.” This is actually new to him – he’s done shit with people who haven’t wanted to do anything back (which he actually doesn’t ever care about, because he definitely likes to think of himself as a giver) but nobody’s ever _requested_ to see him get off after. Usually they leave or fall asleep or roll over. If he’s anything other than a giver, though, it’s an exhibitionist, so even though it’s new he’s still keen to try it.

He doesn’t go _slow_ , not really; there’s none of the usual elaborate teasing, no deliberately drawing it out. But the other boy is still staring intensely, teeth dug into his lip and eyes dark as Kenny strokes himself, rubbing his thumb over the head and twisting his wrist just _so_. Butters looks like he’s taking mental notes, memorizing his every movement so he can do it just how he likes it. Kenny’s kind of close, the eyes watching him making him quicker than usual when the other boy darts forward and kisses him before wrapping his hand around Kenny’s. The added pressure around his cock and the sweet taste of Butters’ mouth makes him climax quickly, kind of ruining his t-shirt.

“You did it,” he points out after a couple of minutes of breath catching and finding a new t-shirt.

Butters shrugs, nuzzling his face into the crook of Kenny’s neck. It’s so cute that his stomach nearly implodes. “Well, it looked easier than I thought,” he answers, giggling softly when Kenny laughs and reaches over him for the TV remote.

 

Thankfully, Kenny has this sense-of-impending-doom radar that’s so good it’s actually able to wake him up if he needs. That’s what magically shakes him awake just as he faintly hears Mr Stotch’s car pull up into the driveway. Butters is still sound asleep, head rising and falling as it rests on Kenny’s chest. Luckily, they didn’t make much of a mess, so all he has to do is roll up his spunky t-shirt, stuff it in his backpack and wake up Butters. “Parents ‘re home,” he stresses, making sure to open the window as quietly as possible when he hears the door unlock and open. “Text me,” he whispers, kissing him on the forehead before slinging his bag on and hiking his legs over the windowsill. Luck is _really_ clearly on his side, as he manages to drop down from scaling the gutter just as the front door shuts, and then miraculously manages to get a good few feet from the house with his hood up before Mrs Stotch pulls up behind him. He’s buzzing so much that he doesn’t even really care when he sticks a smoke in his mouth and discovers he’s misplaced his lighter during the day.


	6. let's play this game called "when you catch fire i wouldn't piss to put you out"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How sure are you that Kyle’s actually gonna be able to do this?”
> 
> Kenny frowns, seemingly counting out numbers on his fingers as if he has any fucking clue what he’s talking about. “About... seventy-six percent,” he eventually decides, shrugging and adding “come on, we’ve gone on less before,” when Craig pulls a concerned face.

It’s been a good few months since Craig’s been dragged into something stupid by Kenny and Eric. So naturally, on the one afternoon he’s planning to hit the gym, get really stoned and then sleep, Eric sticks his meaty arm in the way of Craig closing his car door. “Craig,” he says, dragging out the ‘a’ in a way that Craig just _knows_ can only mean bad things. Usually, he’s perfectly happy to completely ignore Eric and carry on as if he isn’t there (he’s already considering how easy it would be to drive away even with his grip on the door) but then Kenny slides into the passenger seat. “So, we kinda need your help with a little something,” Eric continues as Stan and Kyle simultaneously get into the back seat. Craig lets his head fall on the wheel, the horn sounding out into the now nearly empty carpark until Kenny tugs his shoulder back.

“There isn’t even enough fucking room for all of you,” he weakly protests.

“That’s cool, dude, the Jew’s going in the boot.”

“No I’m not, fatass. You can walk back to Stan’s.”

“Fuck you, Kyle! I’m-”

“There isn’t enough fucking room for all of you _without_ Cartman, assholes. I promised Tweek a lift home,” Craig cuts in. Stan opens his mouth to protest something that Craig knows will be stupid, so he just turns and glowers at him until he shuts his mouth. “Kenny, shove yourself in the back. Cartman, you’re fucking walking, or I’m not helping you with whatever dumb shit you’ve gotten yourself into.” Kenny happily obliges, genuinely throwing himself in the back and nearly taking Stan’s eye out with the heel of his boot as he crushes Kyle. Eric looks like he’s about to start talking again, but at that point a confused looking Tweek gets in the car and shuts the passenger door, so Craig just slams his and locks all the doors. “Don’t ask,” he sighs, turning the key in the ignition and instantly driving away before Cartman breaks through his window.

Tweek just blinks at him, checking over his shoulder at the three messily crammed into the back (Stan doesn’t seem to care, Kyle’s being squished underneath Kenny and Kenny looks very pleased with himself) and slowly nodding. “Are they gonna try and rob you again?”

“Oh my god, Craig, get over it. You _like_ hamsters, dude, I would’ve thought you’d like visiting the giant-hamster land.”

“ _Guinea-pigs,_ ” he says. He’s very much not over it. “Can I finish that?” he then asks, indicating at the pink thermos Tweek has tightly clutched to his chest.

“No, dude.”

“Fuck off, hand it over. You’ve had too much today,” he reasons, because it’s almost definitely true.

“How would you know that?” he argues, clutching the coffee tighter.

“Because you’ve _always_ had too much coffee, wanker. Fucking give me your gay thermos.”

“Fuck you! Give me a cigarette,” he decides, handing over the thermos and swiping the pack from Craig’s back pocket anyway even when Craig says no. For good measure, Kenny chucks him a zippo and happily accepts when Tweek nicks another and hands it to him after lighting it. There’s not even an ashtray back there, so Craig decides to beat Kenny if he burns a hole in anything other than Stan.

“God, get a room,” Stan sighs. Craig doesn’t take his eyes off the road, because he’s not stupid, but he still manages to glare at him through the rear-view mirror.

“Marsh, if you speak again on any part of this car ride, I’m gonna pull you out of the backseat and run you the fuck over.” He doesn’t respond, which is Craig’s favourite response when it comes to Stan. With one hand on the wheel, he holds his hand out for Kenny’s smoke to tap it over the ashtray and take a drag before handing it back to him. He sticks it in Kyle’s mouth, who does the sensible thing and opens the window a crack to ash out of it after smoking it. The rest of the car ride to Tweek’s house is in a comfortable silence, everyone sharing cigarettes with everyone other than Stan, and Craig downing the rest of Tweek’s coffee (which, after quick interrogation, he admits to mixing with redbull.) When they drop Tweek off, Craig promises to text him and let him know that Cartman hasn’t caused his (or anybody else’s) untimely death, scowling when Kenny army rolls into the front seat as soon as he leaves. In Kenny’s defence, it was a pretty respectable army roll given the surroundings. “Right. You assholes want to tell me what mess you’ve gotten yourself into now?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Kenny beams, loudly resting his feet on the airbag holder. “Don’t scowl at me, Tucker. You and I both know that Cartman is the only person who’s going to be able to sell this to you.”

“You’re filling me with _good_ feelings about this, I gotta say,” he deadpans, pulling into Kyle’s driveway where Cartman is sat scowling on the steps. He must’ve grabbed a lift with somebody else. “I hate Cartman fucktons more than I hate the rest of you, where’s the logic in that?”

“Aw, you hate me?” Kenny pouts, blowing Craig a kiss when Craig swings at him and misses. “Come on, time for us to blow up South Park!”

Craig’s only 80% sure he’s kidding.

 

 

“You want me to _what_?”

Cartman rolls his eyes and pulls a face, letting the four of them see his chewed up PB&J sandwich way more than they wanted to. “Come _on_ , Craig, do I really have to go over it again?”

“You want me to break into the school and _steal a security tape._ ”

“And he’s got it, folks! Ten points to Tucker!” Kenny mock cheers. Stan passes him a juicebox, which he actually doesn’t object to.

“Obviously, this is going to be a stupid question-” he sighs, pausing to flip Cartman off when he says _obviously_ under his breath, “but remind me again why one of you guys can’t do this?”

Unsurprisingly, Cartman rolls his eyes, dropping the crusts on his plate and gesturing for Kyle to explain. “Well, if someone stole tapes that incriminated people, you’d naturally suspect it to be the people it was incriminating, right? Our parents don’t love us enough to lie for us, and Cartman’s mom does but is probably too fucked on crack to do it-”

“Ay!”

“-So we’re gonna need to be at home, using them all as alibis. Everyone knows that you don’t like Stan and despise Cartman. And most people think you don’t like Kenny because of how much you guys have your gay fights.”

“They aren’t gay,” Kenny interjects, pulling the strings of his hood alternately, “Craig never lets me touch his dick.” Kyle swats at him as Stan does that Stan thing and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, so say I agree to this fucking stupid idea. What’s stopping me from getting into shit for stealing the tapes?”

“Kyle’s gonna use his sneaky Jew skills to hack into the mainframe and kill the power,” Cartman says, as if it’s obvious, ignoring when Kyle protests from beside him. “Our school’s too retarded to have security guards, so you’ll be fine.”

“How sure are you that Kyle’s actually gonna be able to do this?”

Kenny frowns, seemingly counting out numbers on his fingers as if he has any fucking clue what he’s talking about. “About... seventy-six percent,” he eventually decides, shrugging and adding “come on, we’ve gone on less before,” when Craig pulls a concerned face.

“Don’t you have other friends who would be more willing to do this?”

“Nope,” Stan sighs, glaring at everyone and everything in the room. “Unfortunately, you’re all we’ve got.”

“You’re not allowed to be an asshole to me, Marsh, I’m helping you,” Craig says, but knowing Cartman and Kenny, this is utterly their fault and have dragged in Kyle and Stan, who subsequently dragged in Craig. They’re all giving him puppy-dog eyes, minus Stan, who looks like he’d rather die, so eventually he buries his head in his hands and sighs. “You all owe me. Big time.” From where he’s hiding in his hands he hears a collective _yesss_ and what he assumes is Kenny high-fiving Eric. “What the fuck did you even _do_?” he sighs, looking up to see a very red-faced Kyle and a very angry looking Stan next to a very happy looking Kenny and Eric. “I’ll rephrase – Kyle, what did Cartman and Kenny do?”

“Hey! Why’s it gotta be Cartman _and_ Kenny, huh? I was innocent in all of this!” Kenny protests, scrambling to hide behind Kyle when Stan turns to look at him. “Okay, _mostly_ innocent.”

“Our friend Kenny here stole twenty tabs of acid from some ninth graders,” Kyle starts, and it’s almost worrying that Craig already knows where this story is going. “Cartman being Cartman, he took one as soon as Kenny showed him them. They then proceeded to break into school and ring us from inside, telling us we had to come and get them _immediately_ or the _snake monster_ was going to _eat_ them.” The expression of pure hatred on Kyle and Stan’s faces as they look at Eric and Kenny high-fiving again is something he deeply resonates with. “Now we’re all going to be arrested for breaking and entering and fuck knows what else.”

Craig sighs, cracking his knuckles. “I hate you all.”

-

In fact, he’s never been surer of his pure hatred for the four of them at the exact moment Tweek finally cracks the lock on the basement door. As much as Tweek was utterly the worst person to bring with him due to how much this whole idea is freaking him out, he’s also the only person Craig knows that can pick locks in under three minutes (which, now that he’s thinking about it, is kind of concerning.) “Man, this is- is such a bad idea!” he hisses, sticking the hairpins haphazardly back into his hair and slowly opening the door. “Why do you- why did you even a- _agree_ to this?”

Craig shrugs, sliding through the gap and waiting for Tweek to follow before he shines his phone flashlight down the stairs and starts walking down. “I’ve done this enough for them to all individually owe me a favour. I like the concept.” When Tweek doesn’t follow him and just stares nervously into the dark basement, Craig grabs his hand and tugs him down. “If you think about it, it’s also blackmail – another concept I quite like. Cartman doesn’t care about anything other than himself, so this’ll get me somewhere with him.” He feels Tweek squeeze his hand in response but he doesn’t say anything, so Craig stops walking and shines the torch on his face. “Tweek,” he says firmly, letting go of his hand to touch the other boy’s face. “You’ve split your lip.” Tweek flinches slightly, recoiling when Craig touches his lip and shows him the blood on his finger.  “Stop biting it. You’re safe, Tweek – we’re just at school, it’s not any different other than being dark. And besides, I'm here, so you’re extra safe.” Ignoring the blood that’s now slowly trailing down his chin, he nods slowly, accepting Craig’s hand when he holds it out again. “C’mon, we’re like, nearly done.”

“Not really,” Tweek sighs, but his voice isn’t shaking as much as it was, so Craig takes that as a victory.  Both of them take care not to step in the oily water puddling near their feet, Craig starting to hum really poorly when the boiler groans and Tweek jumps. “You can’t stay- stay i-in tune for- for shit, man.”

“I don’t care,” he hums, letting go of Tweek’s hand momentarily to spin on the spot. He looks like a total asshole at the moment, and he knew even before Tweek pointed it out that he was humming awfully – he can’t sing at _all_ , and the same tuneless ability is transferred across to his humming skills. At this moment in time, though, he couldn’t give fewer shits. Nobody else can see them, and it’s making Tweek laugh in a kind of irritated way, which Craig heavily prefers to him gnawing a hole in his bloody lip. Granted, the now-dry trail of blood is still present on his chin, but he doesn’t seem to care, so Craig doesn’t mention it.

The door to the janitor’s cupboard where the tapes are stored is unlocked, surprisingly, but Craig doesn’t waste any time. Because Kyle actually knows what he’s talking about most of the time, the stack of tapes are pretty much exactly where he said they would be: inside a cardboard box under the table nearest to the door and stacked by week with Monday at the top. Apparently, they only store each set for a month before chucking them. The lack of protocol wasn’t surprising – honestly, Craig was surprised to find out the school actually had functioning security cameras. This school doesn’t tend to have functioning _anything._

Helpfully, they’re marked by date and time length (even though they all go from 6am to 5:30am the next day and help Craig decide that whoever is in charge of the security tape system is probably the glue holding the school together,) so it only takes a minute of both of them shifting through the tapes to find the one Kyle told them to grab. At the same exact moment that he successfully pulls it free and puts the lid back on the box, Tweek swears and silently shuts the door, turning to Craig with possibly the biggest deer-in-the-headlights look he’s ever produced. At first, Craig rolls his eyes, walking over to open the door and tell him it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Then he hears the footsteps on the metal stairs and nearly drops everything he’s holding. Both of them are frantically scanning the room for somewhere to decently hide, Tweek shaking his head in protest when Craig points at the broom cupboard. If there’s anything Tweek hates more than literally everything he’s terrified of, it’s confined spaces, but Craig decides they don’t have a choice and drags him over to it, shushing him when he makes some kind of whining noise. There are maybe two or three voices outside the door, and they’re slowly but surely getting closer. It’s strong metal locker, the kind that has a twist bolt on the inside that you can lock with a key on the outside, and it’s realistically the only place they won’t be seen. Reluctantly, Tweek lets himself be pushed inside and squished up against the brooms and spare janitor’s uniform whilst Craig gets in and turns the lock as quietly as possible (which isn’t all that quiet.)

Trying to be as quiet as possible, Tweek starts hyperventilating, hands firmly pressed against the back of the cupboard and the metal door. Thankfully, he’s not making much noise, but his breathing’s becoming more choked with tears, so Craig pulls him up to his chest and kind of sways him back and forth as much as is possible when there’s two tall boys in a metal broom cupboard. Tweek clutches the fabric of his coat and suffocates himself in his shoulder in attempt to be quieter, but all that seems to do is quicken his breathing more. In the background, he hears someone laugh, and they sound uncomfortably close to the door. Quickly, he takes Tweek’s face in both of his hands and presses their foreheads together so Tweek can feel his breathing. “ _Copy my breathing, okay_?” he whispers, exaggerating his breathing so Tweek is able to clearly feel it because it’s fucking pitch black in that cupboard and he sure as hell can’t _see_ anything Craig’s doing. For comfort, he lets Tweek grab the back of his neck and pretends not to care when he digs his nails in too hard. After a minute or so, he’s getting there, thankfully focused enough on Craig to seemingly not even notice when someone opens the door to the room. “ _Don’t. Move.”_ It’s so quiet that he’s not even sure Tweek heard it, but the fingers on the back of his neck momentarily tighten again in what Craig assumes is understanding. They don’t spend too long in there, just wave torches around for a couple minutes and shift the table before shutting the door again. Just to be safe though, Craig waits until he hears the footsteps back up the metal stairs and the basement door lock again before he lets them both out of the cupboard and turns his flashlight on again. Tweek lies eagle spread on the concrete floor, staring at the ceiling blankly until Craig leans over him. “You dealt with that so fucking well, dude.”

“Fuck that cupboard,” is all he says in response, closing his eyes for a couple of seconds before letting Craig help him to his feet. They don’t speak again until they’re back in Craig’s car and have driven a safe distance away from the school. “Keep it,” Tweek instructs, methodically cracking all of his knuckles and refusing to acknowledge Craig asking what he’s supposed to be keeping until he’s finished. “The- that shitty tape. You c-can use it. As- as blackmail.”

Craig grins, almost fondly. “I’ve taught you so well.”

 

The next day when he informs the four he has the tape (showing them picture evidence instead of physical evidence because he wants it for leverage and doesn’t trust one of them not to steal it,) Kenny kisses him loudly on the cheek and clings onto him until he’s shoved away by an unimpressed Craig. Kyle hugs him too, but in a much less annoying and much more brief way, and Stan and Eric just respectively fist bump him. “You all owe me your lives.”

“I don’t owe you jack-shit, Tucker,” Eric insists, shovelling a handful of the crisps he stole from Butters into his mouth and ignoring the way half of them spill down his coat.

“I’ll accept your first-born or your life, I'm not picky,” he deadpans. When Eric doesn’t respond other than to flip Craig off, Craig rolls his eyes and flicks him in the ear. “I almost got fucking caught, Cartman, and it was to save _your_ fat ass.”

“And Kenny’s!” he protests.”

“I like Kenny. I don’t like you.”

“Ask me if I give a fuck.”

“In that case, I’ll just stick a fucking bow on the tape and leave it on the principal’s desk,” he sighs, getting up and starting to walk away. Surprisingly, he almost makes it to where Clyde and Jimmy are leaning against his locker before Eric’s meaty hand grabs at his shoulder.

“What do you want, fucker?” he curses, Kyle standing in the background with crossed arms indicating he forced him to chase after Craig.

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll let you know.” Eric huffs in disbelief, stomping his foot hard enough for some eighth graders nearby to nearly shit themselves. “You’ll just have to kiss my ass until I decide, huh?” he smirks, walking over to Clyde and Token to leave him grumbling in the hallway. Unsurprisingly, they’re both bragging to each other about stuff they did with girls over the weekend and how they’ve already bagged dates for the winter ball that’s coming up (Clyde’s almost definitely lying.) “Wait, what winter ball? Why the fuck do we have a _winter ball_?”

“Don’t m-mock it, Craig. I- I’ll have you know that- that this is C-C-Clyde’s last chance t-to- to get laid th-this year,” Jimmy informs him, accepting an awkward high-five from Craig when Clyde sticks out his bottom lip. “S-so, have you t-t-taken your pick?”

“Taken- what?” he frowns, gently shouldering Clyde out of the way to open his locker (he’s in serious hope that his history folder is shoved in the back, because otherwise he’ll have to go to class without it and his teacher will _not_ be amused.)

“Come on, Craigory,” Clyde sighs, as if Jimmy’s just asked the most obvious question in the world. “Open your eyes and smell the estrogen. About ninety percent of the girls in our year would fucking, like, _explode_ if you asked them to this. You could pretty much pick anyone you wanted – other than Bebe, obviously.” When Craig doesn’t respond and just looks extremely confused and slightly put out, Clyde overdramatically face-palms. “Oh my god, how oblivious _are_ you? Have you never looked at a girl in your _life_?”

“Y-yeah Craig- w-what are you? G-gay?”

“Um. Yeah? I thought you knew that.” Clyde and Jimmy both gape at him for a solid minute, not changing expression even after he rolls his eyes and slams his locker door shut (he doesn’t have the folder.) “Now who’s oblivious?” he sighs, nodding in greeting to Token who comes up behind Clyde (who still doesn’t falter even when Token slaps him on the arm.)

“Token, you’re not gonna fucking _believe_ this shit,” Clyde rushes out, still not taking his eyes off Craig. “This asshole’s _gay_ and he never fucking said anything!”

Craig gives Token the look they share when Clyde’s being stupid, which is a lot. “I knew that?” Token frowns, handing Craig his history folder without explanation. “I thought it was kind of obvious.” With that, he indicates towards his and Craig’s history class and together they leave Clyde and Jimmy in an unnecessary state of shock in the hallway.For good measure, he asks Token if Tweek was aware of the whole homosexuality-thing. Token shrugs, thinking about it for a bit. “I honestly can’t say. Why?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, because it’s not all that important. He just wanted to know.

(For the record, Kenny, Kyle, Stan and Eric were all separately questioned and had their parents bought in to make sure they hadn’t broken into the school the night before, so Craig felt a sense of quiet accomplishment when he wasn’t even asked about it. God, they owed him so bad.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry the chapters are so short! at least the updates are kind of regular? also if stuff hugely doesn't make sense you might wanna go back and read stuff because i keep being really dumb and going back to edit chapters


	7. living's just a waste of death and why put a new address on the same old loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe this just means we’re bonded for life, and that’s why you can see it.” Kenny's not really joking at all, and Butters doesn’t even laugh, just nods contentedly. It makes sense, if you think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea what to do with this now but i'll find something

_Like normal, Kenny can sense it in the air before it happens. He’s unsure of what exactly it is that he can sense, but it’s there, some kind of feeling crushing the air around him. Usually, he’s not all that bothered, but tonight he’s meant to be when he picks up food for the next few dinners, meaning Karen probably won’t get to eat anything tonight. For good measure, he stuffs the handful of dollars into his pocket and zips it up so he’ll still have it when he wakes up. It’s far past the point where he gets scared about it anymore – he just hopes it’s quick._

_Unfortunately, he must’ve done something to piss off the karma gods or something (maybe it was stealing that acid from those ninth graders) because when the car wheels around the corner too fast, it doesn’t hit him. It hits the signpost on the other side of the road which comically flies over and impales his stomach. The drivers are absolutely smashed, so they just clamber out of the car and run off, laughing and completely unharmed. Typical. From the amount of blood that’s already pooled around him, he’s guessing the metal has completely severed his aorta (yes, he knows biology. Grade eight Kenny figured he may as well learn his bodily anatomy so he’d know which part of him was the reason he died. Just something to pass the time whenever he’s bleeding out.) The karma gods obviously met him halfway – sure, it’s painful (holy **fuck** is it painful) but he’s only got another few minutes, tops. He uses two of those to text Karen and let her know he won’t be home for sign-post related reasons and that he’s sorry about dinner, and then he slips his phone back into his blood-soaked pocket and lies there, waiting to die. It’s not like he’s not used to it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t make it any less lonely either._

_As consciousness slowly slips away, he breathes a sigh of relief and lets himself sink into the ground._

 

In the morning, his body’s all achy and heavy like it always is, but he forces himself to get up and go into school anyway so he can at least drop off Karen a sandwich because she clearly hasn’t taken anything with her and she usually won’t use the free school meal card unless she’s really hungry. Personally, Kenny doesn’t care if people think he’s poor or whatever, so he doesn’t mind eating whatever greasy shit the cafeteria produce. It’s better than nothing, and only having to make one packed lunch is easier than making two. For good measure, he lifts his shirt up as he’s passing by the mirror in her room. As per usual, the reflection of his skin doesn’t match what’s actually there – when he runs his fingers over the deep pink scar he can see in the mirror, he can only feel smooth skin, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when he pushes down on it. Like most of the things about this whole cthulhu cult bullshit, he doesn’t really understand it, but in a way it’s kind of comforting. Especially before Karen started remembering, it was kind of all he had as proof that everything was actually happening (other than him remembering it.) Nobody else can see them, though, other than Karen, so it’s a bitter-sweet proof. If he focuses on it hard enough, the image in the mirror starts to flicker, and for a couple of seconds he’s granted with the image of what his abdomen looked like last night. Karen can do this too, if she’s ever really curious; just stare at the scar in the mirror for long enough and the reflection turns into whatever he looked like when he was dying. He usually doesn’t let her do this.

On his run to school (he’s already really late) he pukes in two separate trash cans, which is pretty much standard when he’s died the night before. Surprisingly, he still manages to make it just after the end of homeroom and lets Kyle find him with his faced pressed against his locker. “Dude, you look like shit,” he laughs, shoving him out of the way enough to get to his locker and start looking through it. Kyle being Kyle, it’s immaculately organised to the point where the pictures he has up on the side were probably lined up with a ruler they’re so goddamn straight. There are three: one with Kyle giving Ike a piggyback (which is a tough feat at this point because just like Kyle did in eighth grade he’s shot up and is now a tall gangly stoner after Kenny’s own heart,) one with Kenny messily kissing his cheek and wearing Kyle’s old green ushanka and one with Stan’s arm lazily over his shoulder and holding a beer up towards the camera. He looks awkward in the first two because it’s Kyle and Kyle always looks uncomfortable in photos, but Stan’s made him laugh in the third one. Kenny almost feels like it’s intrusive just to look at it. “Earth to Kenny, hello? You smell like sick.”

“I puked twice on the walk to school,” he says cheerfully, gently poking at the photo on the locker door and grinning when Kyle scowls and slams it shut. “I think it got on my t-shirt, you got a spare?”

“We have gym today, just wear that.”

“I don’t have a gym kit, dude,” he sighs still keeping the grin plastered on his face. Kyle knows this.

“Oh shit- um, yeah, I meant use mine?” he rushes out, deflating slightly when Kenny laughs at him. “Sorry man, I didn’t-”

“Nah dude, it’s fine. Lend me some Axe and I’ll borrow a gym shirt.” Like all school kit, they reek of shit. Kyle re-opens his locker to grab the can and pass it to Kenny, who shoves it in his pocket. He really needs to get a backpack.

 

He _definitely_ needs to get a backpack. When he delivered Karen her lunch, she let him put his gross t-shirt in her bag as long as he wrapped it up in a plastic bag that Butters provided. Thankfully, Butters is also in his shitty gym class, and it’s the one class he doesn’t mind skipping. Unfortunately, the school coach _does_ mind, so when he eventually finds them both hiding behind the buildings whilst everyone else plays football, he makes them run ten laps around the entire playing field and actually sets up a chair in the snow to make sure they do it. It’s fucking freezing, so when the tips of his fingers start going blue coach reluctantly lets them go inside. Gym was the last period of the day, so the changing rooms are completely empty and thankfully, warm. “Was it worth skipping football for that?” he ponders, as Butters lies across one of the benches and lets his numb body absorb the heat around him. Kenny immediately jumps into one of the showers, listening to him call out across the changing room.

“Gee, I don’t really know... I guess it was, ‘cause we only had to run for twenty minutes, a-and everybody else had to play stupid football for forty-five.”

“Football is stupid,” he agrees. Baseball is the only sport he can get behind in terms of school sports. Really, he doesn’t mind football, but he doesn’t like playing it with people who try too hard (aka everyone in his gym class.) After a minute of presumably catching his breath and letting the colour return to his fingers, Butters decides to come and sit around the corner and chat to him whilst he showers. Unlike Kenny, who will come in here to shower even if he _hasn’t_ just had gym, Butters has always been a firm avoider of the showers even when the changing rooms are empty (because ‘you never know who could come poking their nose around’.) Thankfully, someone stupid has left a shitty little washbag tucked under the nearest bench, so he gets Butters to open it and pass him the mini bottles of shampoo and basically everything else in there. Kenny’s not at all surprised when Butters points out what looks like Kyle’s handwriting in block letters reading STAN MARSH. 

“Stan’s awful silly sometimes, isn’t he?”

“Stan’s _awful silly_ all the fucking time,” Kenny sighs, screwing his eyes shut so the suds don’t get in his eyes.

“Yeah! You mean about Kyle, right?”

Kenny frowns, turning back to face Butters and not missing the way his eyes flick down and back up. “What?”

“Well, it’s real obvious Stan loves Kyle a whole lot... a-and he doesn’t seem to love Wendy all that much. But he’s still with Wendy and not Kyle, even though Kyle seems to be real sad about it.”

Kenny huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Nobody really knows why Stan’s doing that. I don’t even think Stan knows.” With that he shuts off the shower, the room so warm that the lack of hot water doesn’t even sting. “Um,” he frowns, loosely searching the room around him.

“Hm? What’s up, Ken?”

“I don’t have a towel.”

Butters sighs, twiddling his thumbs as he sits cross-legged on the bench. “Ah.”

“I’ll air-dry,” he decides, shaking a little and watching in amusement as water droplets fly out of his hair. He tugs his boxers on pretty quickly so he’s at least semi-decent, but then just sits on the bench, waiting for his hair to be dry enough and eventually accepting Butters’ gym shirt as a makeshift towel. When that doesn’t really work, he sits under the hand-drier in the bathroom until his skin burns. He poses as he comes out to show off how amazing his hand-drier idea was and relishes in the way Butters laughs at him and how it lights up the room.

“Hey Ken, what- what’s that on your side?” he asks, voice flat and scared and not how it sounded a few seconds ago at all. Kenny’s hand immediately goes to where the scar would be, subconsciously tracing from mid rib-cage down to his pelvis and the way it would curve around the skin. He turns to the mirror behind him and sees the wide scar, still unsure of what Butters is talking about.

Behind him, Butters drops the water bottle he finished a couple of minutes ago, and the plastic clattering is the loudest thing Kenny’s ever heard.

“Butters?” he asks, turning on his heels to look at the other boy. He’s sat there with wide eyes, but he looks terrified. “What’s wrong? There isn’t anything on my side. You okay?”

“In the mirror,” he whispers, fingers going white from how tightly he’s clutching the edge of the bench. Kenny turns around again, just for a couple of seconds to check it in the mirror again. Surely he can’t see it. Right? Butters is staring at the mirror so intensely Kenny fears he might burst, so maybe he can see it? But if he can, that means he can also see what happened last night. Kenny doesn’t want him to have to see that.

Butters doesn’t scream, not quite, but it’s something painfully similar as he stands up and points at Kenny. “You- you died- you _die_ ,” is all he manages to choke out.

“Butters-” Kenny tries in a soft voice, slowly walking towards the other boy.

“What the _fuck_?”

“ _Leo_ ,” he tries, but he’s already bolting out of the room. Kenny would follow him, obviously, but last time he ran out of the changing room in boxers he got yelled at for twenty minutes.

_Goddamnit_.

 

Thankfully, Butters is quite predictable by nature, so it’s easy to find him slotted between his bookcase and his desk with his head between his knees. Unsure of what kind of state he’s in, Kenny doesn’t touch him, just sits down in front of him so he can’t run away again. “You died,” he sobs into his jeans, not looking up at where Kenny is sitting across from him. “I’ve seen you _die_ \- why don’t I remember, Ken?”

“Nobody remembers,” is all he can really say, hoping it’ll offer some comfort. Butters takes a deep, shaky breath in attempt to stay calm, but when he finally meets Kenny’s eyes his bottom lip is still wobbling. “Other than Karen, but I think that’s ‘cause we’re related.” He sits there for a couple more minutes and waits for some sort of indication that Butters doesn’t think he’s some weird undead freak and actually still wants to be near him, the silence only filled by the tinny radio playing from the kitchen and quiet crying. “C’mere?” he tries, preparing himself for certain rejection and being pleasantly surprised when Butters clambers into his lap. He’s wrapped his arms and legs around Kenny so tightly that he thinks he might seep into him. “Which part of this is upsetting you?” he murmurs, and it might sound like a stupid question, but realistically there are lots of different and potentially upsetting elements.

“Well, a-all of it really,” he says into Kenny’s shoulder, regaining the minimum amount of composure needed to speak clear enough to be understood. “Y’know, I feel real bad that I can’t remember you dying all those times – a-and it’s awful sad that nobody else remembers, though I s’pose I'm glad you’ve got Karen.”

“You saw it though, didn’t you? What happened last night.” Butters stiffens, relaxing ever so slightly when Kenny starts gently rubbing his back through his thin t-shirt. “You saw the scar in the mirror, and then you stared at it for too long and it-”

“Don’t,” he pleads, voice barely audible. Kenny sighs and sinks his head into the other boy’s soft hair. “I can’t- it won’t get out of my head.”

“It’s over now,” he soothes, kissing his forehead. “I’m still very much alive and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Will I forget again?”

Kenny sighs, letting himself revel in the other’s warmth for a few more seconds before taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. Usually I’d say yeah, but- you saw the thing in the mirror, any nobody else’s ever seen that other than Karen. I guess we’ll see.”

“I- I’m real sorry if I forget, okay? I’ll try awful hard to remember, so please don’t be sore with me if I forget.”

Kenny laughs softly, despite how crushed he knows he’ll be when Butters forgets. “I couldn’t ever be sore at you, buttercup,” he sighs, squeezing the other boy closer to his chest. “Maybe this just means we’re bonded for life, and that’s why you can see it.” He’s not really joking at all, and Butters doesn’t even laugh, just nods contentedly. It makes sense, if you think about it.

-

Craig knows something is wrong as soon as the loudspeaker announces he’s needed in the counsellor's office; realistically, it won't be about him (it’s been too long since he’s really done something worth getting called down there other than stealing that videotape, and he’s definitely in the clear for that,) so that means there's something wrong with Tweek. Usually, he'd be kind of down about missing history (it's the only subject he's really good at other than maths,) but he's too overwhelmed by the unexpected pit of fear in his stomach. Obviously, he's worried about Tweek, which is expected, but this is something different. Part of it is probably the severe lack of sleep all week that he knows has been leading up to something like this and yet the level of unknown is kind of too much to bear.

His heart plummets when he sees Mr Mackey sat at his desk and Tweek's dad’s voicemail playing out. Asshole. Craig's unsure he would care even if he did pick up.

"There's been a bit of a situation, m'kay?" he hums, giving up on the call and squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Tweek’s having some sort of mental breakdown, m'kay, and we can't seem to get hold of his parents. Now, Craig, I usually wouldn't allow this, m'kay, but as a school we've got to be concerned for his safety, m'kay, so we're going to ask if you'd like to get hold of him? His phone's off, m'kay, but Clyde said you would be able to find him. Is that right?" 

Craig just nods frantically, wanting him to finish talking as quick as possible. "Now you'll be able to find my number on the school website, m'kay, so once you find him I'd like for you to contact me, m'kay?" he asks. Craig just leaves. He knows where Tweek will be, but finding him isn't the issue - it's getting to him before he does something stupid. It’s just reached the end of third period, but the hallways aren’t quite buzzing enough to stop him from running through them all. One of the English teachers tries to stop him but he just skids out of the way, too focused to flip her off as he runs past her shouting.  Token calls after him too from somewhere, but he doesn’t even look back. Nothing’s as important as this.

Thankfully, he chose to drive today so he manages to get to Tweek’s house within a couple of minutes. Without even thinking, he grabs the key Tweek’s dad always keeps behind the trashcan and opens the front door so fast he almost breaks it. "Tweek?" he calls, forcing his voice to stay calm. "It's Craig. I'm by myself, okay?" 

Still no response.

Craig doesn't bother checking anywhere but Tweek's bedroom because it's where he always says he feels safest, so it's no surprise when the door is locked and Craig can really faintly hear him breathing from underneath it. "Tweek, it's me. Can you let me in?"

"You're not _real_!" he sobs, voice muffled by something else other than the door.  
"I am real, I swear," he promises, trying the doorknob again. "They let me leave school to come and find you. Please let me in, Tweek."

He just carries on crying. " _No!_  I- I  _can't_!"

Not sure as to whether he means he doesn't believe it's him or he physically can't get up, Craig sighs, scratching the back of his neck. The only thing he can do that's more productive than sitting outside the door is trying to climb through the window, but that's a lot harder at Tweek's house than it is at Craig's. Still, it's worth a try, because scraping up his elbows on the dying tree outside is better than having to sit outside the bedroom not being able to get in.   
The bathroom window is a squeeze, but Craig is just about slim enough and too glad that it's open to care that his hat gets caught on the handle. He can untangle the wool later; right now, he needs to get to Tweek. 

The smaller boy is curled up in the foetal position on his floor, shaking with his head buried under what Craig recognises as one of his old jumpers. "Tweek?" he murmurs, slowly making his way over and sinking down on to the floor next to him. "I'm here."

"Get- get  _out_!" he shrieks, sitting up but keeping his head locked between his knees as he pushes himself as far away from the other as possible. " _Don't_   _touch me_ ," he whispers, repeating it into the fabric of his jeans until Craig promises that he won't, instead telling him over and over that he's here and he's not leaving.

Eventually, Tweek loosens one of his hands from where it's tightly clutching his hair and grabs the other boy's coat, tugging him in. Craig finally lets out the breath he's been holding and pulls Tweek onto his lap, slowly rocking him back and forth whilst he shakes and sobs into his chest. Getting to the part where Tweek finally gives in and lets himself be comforted is never easy, but it didn't take too long this time, and usually it's only uphill from that point. His breathing subdues easily from this point, but he's still crying and hasn't loosened his hold on the fabric of Craig's coat. Unsure of what else to say, he starts humming softly into his soft hair and rubbing his back. After a couple more minutes, the crying pretty much stops and he mumbles something into Craig's chest, repeating it when the other doesn't hear. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "a-about all this."

"It's not your fault, and you know that. Wanna tell me what happened yet?" he asks. Tweek just stays silent, so Craig takes that as a no and just nods again, running his fingers through his knotted blonde hair. "That's okay, you can tell me when you ready or whatever. Want me to make you some hot chocolate?"

"No- don't- don't leave me, okay? Promise you won't."

Craig's momentarily unsure of how to react to this; usually Tweek wants a minute alone to collect himself but this time he's refusing to let go and further burying his face in Craig's neck. "I promise," he sighs, not loosening his grip on the other boy's shaking frame. "Not going anywhere." His legs are slowly going dead so he lifts Tweek slightly and crosses them under him, letting him sit comfortably in between them and cross his ankles behind Craig’s back, holding onto him so tightly he thinks they might meld into one. He doesn’t think they can get any closer than this – Tweek’s never been in a more vulnerable state, and he usually pushes away everyone at this point, but Craig’s still here.

“You- y’know I haven’t slept,” he mumbles, not removing his face from Craig’s neck. “That- I think that’s why it’s- it got so bad.” Craig nods, almost afraid to speak incase he shuts down. “I was in the library and- with Kyle, I was with Kyle – and these guys came- came in and sat with us.” Tweek takes a deep, heavy breath. “They were- they just started saying a-all these _things-_ ”

“Deep breaths,” he murmurs, continuing to run his fingers through Tweek’s hair. “You don’t have to say all that shit if you don’t want to.” The smaller boy takes another heavy breath, shaking slightly harder than before. “Did you know them?” he asks after another minute, nodding slowly when Tweek shook his head.

“They’re- they were college kids. I-I don’t know how- how they knew _me_.”

“It’s South Park, Tweek. Everyone knows everyone.”

“ _They tried to make me take it_ ,” he whispers, and Craig stiffens slightly, feeling hot tears on his neck.

“Take what?”

Tweek doesn’t speak for at least five more minutes, but Craig knows not to push him. When he’s ready, he will, and Craig will wait forever if he has to.

“It was- he pulled it out of nowhere, this l-little- little baggie- he didn’t say what was- what it was.”

_But you knew_ , Craig thinks. _Of course you knew_. “I’ll kill them,” he promises. “Did anything happen?”

“The- the one holding m-me down was w-weak- I punched him,” Tweek whispers, and if it was a different situation Craig would’ve been proud. “I- he fell, I think he- he got knocked out.”

“Then you left?” he asks, shoulders loosening slightly when Tweek nods. “Good. It’s okay then, right? You fucking socked the guy, so I’ll go look for a greasy college guy with a black eye and an equally greasy friend and fucking murder them.”

Tweek laughs softly, but goes back to hiding after a couple of seconds before mumbling something indeterminable. Craig makes a noise to let him know he didn’t hear, brows furrowing when Tweek seems to start crying again. “ _I wanted to_.”

“What?” he frowns, pulling Tweek away by the shoulders gently to look at him properly. His eyes are streaming with tears and his bottom lip is wobbling as he refuses to look at the taller boy.

“I m-mean- they were trying to- to force me b-but- but I- part of me _wanted_ it,” he says, spitting out the last part as if he’s disgusted by it. “I-I thought I was- was p-past that? Am I a-always gonna be like- like this?” His hands go back up into his hair, not tugging, just threading his fingers through it and holding on tightly. Craig sighs, untangling the other boy’s cold fingers from his hair and bringing them down to his side. When he starts digging his nails into his palms, Craig sighs again and takes Tweek’s shaky hands back into his own.

“Tweek,” he says slowly, waiting until Tweek finally looks up at him. “Did you take any?”

“N-no! I- I swear! You- you’d know, a-anyways.”

“I believe you, dude, that wasn’t what I was getting at. My _point_ is that you didn’t take any.”

“I- what?”

“You had like, the biggest opportunity ever. It was practically being forced down your throat, and you still didn’t take it. I’m not surprised you miss it – you were on it for like, fucking _years_ , and you never even relapsed. I can’t even comprehend how much self-control it would’ve taken to leave that place and I am so, so proud.”

“R-really?”

“Really,” he promises, squeezing Tweek’s hands as he lets his head lean into Craig’s shoulder again. “I’m still gonna kill those guys, though.”

(Craig stays true to his word. Kyle lets him know who they were and joins him behind the school bike shed the next day with Kenny and where they lovingly kick the utter shit out of the two of them. Kenny empties their pockets for ‘good measure’ and manages to pass on an 8 ball for his parents to sell.)

After a brief call to Mr Mackey to let him know that Tweek isn’t dead or dying and is just resting, Craig drops his mum a text letting her know where he is and where he’ll most likely be for the night before making some chicken noodle soup for them to share. Craig’s never found himself being massively comfortable in Tweek’s house, but that’s mainly due to the kind of people his parents are, so now that the house is empty he has no trouble slumping over the kitchen counter as he waits for the kettle to boil. He’s definitely had closer calls in terms of getting to Tweek in time (and yeah, there’s been occasions where he hasn’t gotten there in time and he’s taken too many of his anxiety pills that he keeps under his bed just in case, or when he’s tore the skin on his arms apart with his nails just to stay grounded) but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t worried. Because, at the end of the day, it’s _Tweek_ ; incredible and utterly, completely unpredictable. Granted, he prides himself on being able to deal with that quite well when he needs to (which isn’t always because contrary to popular belief, Tweek can cope with being alone) but just when he thinks he’s got everything figured out, something unpredictable throws a spanner in the works and Craig’s left with- with _something_ he doesn’t know his way around.

 

That’s why he finds himself sat upstairs in one of the apartment buildings he’s never really noticed before bright and early Saturday morning, digging his heels into the weird green carpet and trying to stay remotely alert in such a comfortable arm chair. In the end, Tweek said he was okay to go in by himself after Craig showed him where it was, but still wanted him to wait for him anyway (which left Craig mostly proud and a feeling a little useless.) He can’t hear them talking properly, just the low hum of her voice and Tweek alternating between one-word responses and ranting for minutes on end – and he doesn’t really feel the need to hear, either. It’s not like they’ll be talking about anything Craig doesn’t _know_ (unless Tweek lied when he said Craig knew everything, but he wasn’t going to explore that possibility) and Tweek will almost definitely detailedly recount the entire hour to him later when they go back to Craig’s to eat pizza and do maths homework. Token has a piss-up on, like he does pretty much every Saturday; sometimes it’s just their group, and sometimes it’s the whole of South Park, so they’ve really started picking and choosing the nights they agree to go. Surprisingly, it’s not Tweek who minds the massive influx of people (he doesn’t mind anything once he’s smashed) but Craig, who gets too uncomfortable to drink when there’s so many people around and ends up driving Tweek home because he doesn’t want to stay over.

( _“I don’t have a fucking clue how you guys haven’t killed each other or gotten married yet,” is how Clyde tries to explain it one chemistry lesson where they’ve got a sub. “It’s like you’re always on the brink of like, stabbing each other or fucking each other, only you can’t decide.” Craig just stares at him, horrendously unsure of what emotion he should even be expressing at this moment in time. “Like... Kyle, bro, help me out here?” he calls out, carrying on even when Kyle doesn’t acknowledge him. “What’s that word where they like, really need each other as much as each other?” he asks, and even though Craig is staring at the back of his head, he can **feel** how much Kyle hates Clyde’s stupidity. “Like, um... that bird and a rhino.”_

_“Co-dependent?”  Kyle sighs without even looking up from his desk._

_“ **Exactly**!” Clyde shouts, banging his hand on the table and waking up Jason who’d previously been napping on his desk. “You can’t kill each other ‘cause then who’re you gonna co-dependent with? Huh?” he smirks, ignoring Kyle quietly telling him that co-dependent isn’t a something you do. “You can’t fuck- wait, why can’t you fuck?”_

_“Why **would**_ _we fuck?” Craig asks, debating whether it would be worth Clyde crying if he smacked him with his heaviest textbook. “I hate you so fucking much, dude.”_

_“Shut up, you know I’m right.”)_

Craig doesn’t linger on really anything that Clyde says because it’s _Clyde_ , and ninety five point seven percent of it is total fucking bullshit. Admittedly, though, there is the four point three percent where he hits the nail on the head so perfectly that it usually leaves everyone speechless (which Craig thinks may partially be due to how often he fucks it up,) and that was one of those times.  Even though everyone thinks he’s stuck putting up with Tweek, it’s not like that at all – Craig needs him just as much as he’s needed _by_ him.

He’s not really sure where the train of thought is going, anyway, so he lets himself relax back into the armchair. Tweek won’t be done for another forty minutes, so he curls his legs up on there too and properly sinks into the cushions. Clyde might’ve been chatting shit, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i know that canonically kenny comes back to life by being actually reborn but i took the lazy way out and didn't write it like that sorry) also the mirror invisible scar concept came from @dudemarsh on tumblr go follow them i love their blog


	8. i want to get stuck and be in your memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next to him, Stan shouts 'of course I love you' into his shitty iPhone and Kyle deflates utterly, turning to Craig and flicking the neck of the bottle. “Wanna finish this with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: the chapter titles (and fic name actually) are all fall out boy lyrics - i'm not a diehard fan or anything i just chose it for the first few and stuck with it lmao these aren't just 'weird' choices

“You’re coming to Token’s, dude,” Clyde tells him as he plonks himself down next to Craig on his bed. As per usual, neither he nor Tweek actually invited him over; he saw on snapchat that they were together, so he decided to join them. Craig just wants _one_ fucking Saturday. That’s all.

“Am I? That’s weird; I thought I’d already decided I wasn’t.”

“It’s just a _little_ get-together. Barely anything.”

“Didn’t you- _ngh-_ invite the- the goth kids? A-and our whole grade?” Tweek helpfully pipes up, ducking when Clyde chucks a discarded t-shirt at him (it still hits him, and he makes no effort to get it off.)

“They probably won’t even come, dude. Tweek’s going, you’ve _got_ to go. Who else is gonna stay sober and make sure he doesn’t get paralytic, huh?”

Craig rolls his eyes and hits his head on the wall behind him; realistically, he’ll have to go if Tweek is somehow coerced into going without him. “Why don’t you be responsible for once in your life, Clyde?”

“I’m gonna not,” he decides, wiggling his fingers at Stripe as he pushes his nose up against the cage around the area Craig’s dedicated to being some kind of playpen. Stripe’s always been weirdly nice to Clyde. Traitor. “Be there before 9 or I’m drunk-driving across town to come and get you,” he threatens, flashing a shit-eating grin at the pair of them before giving them a weird salute and leaving.

“I hate Clyde with every inch of my body,” he sighs, grabbing the t-shirt from where it’s crumpled on Tweek’s shoulder and tossing it into the little washing basket his mom got him when he stopped doing laundry as much as he should have. “You’re gonna make us go, aren’t you?” he sighs, slowly turning to meet Tweek nervously beaming at him. “Goddamnit.”

 

Part of him wishes he’d never asked. Maybe, instead, he could’ve distracted Tweek with the promise of Chinese food later, and he would’ve forgotten about Token’s shitty party and Craig could’ve then spent his Saturday night playing tekken or something with him instead of slumped against the wall making sure Tweek doesn’t kill himself or anyone else. In the rare occasion that he does end up at one of these, Kenny’s his go-to in terms of company that he doesn’t hate and isn’t piss drunk (well, Kenny’s typical party idea is piss drunk _and_ high on xans, but he’s still able to act coherent enough for Craig to not mind being sober around him) but he’s not here. Kyle and Stan are – or at least Kyle’s watching Stan argue with Wendy on the phone – but Butters isn’t, so Craig puts two and two together and figures Kenny’s either willingly ditched Token’s in favour of hanging out with Butters or Butters hasn’t wanted to come and Kenny’s stayed with him anyway. The only remotely interesting thing happening in the kitchen is the argument Stan’s having and how utterly devastated Kyle looks, so Craig leaves one eye on Tweek and shuffles over, swiping the bottle of absolut from Kyle’s loose grip before he drops it.

“ _She didn’t want him to go_ ,” Kyle whispers, barely audible over whoever’s blasting J Hus over Token’s speaker system.

“Why’d he come, then?” Craig asks, not bothering to be quiet because Stan’s clearly too wrapped up in Wendy being annoying to even acknowledge Craig.

“Wanted to. I asked him.” Kyle sighs, eyes momentarily flicking over to where Tweek’s draped over Bebe’s shoulders whilst they both poke fun at Clyde; there’s nothing to it other than friendship, so Craig doesn’t really get why it’s making him feel so weird. Next to him, Stan shouts _of course I love you_ into his shitty iPhone and Kyle deflates utterly, turning to Craig and flicking the neck of the bottle. “Wanna finish this with me?”

“I’m Tweek’s ride. And mine.”

Kyle shrugs, swiping it back and necking about a fifth of it (which is a feat because Kyle’s never really been a big drinker, and the bottle’s almost full. “Ten minute walk. You’ll live.” Craig visually hesitates, mind planning out each individual thing that could possibly go wrong if he wasn’t being sober. “If you don’t share this with me then I’ll finish it by myself.”

After one more look at Tweek (who’s now drawing a very comic yet intensely skilled penis on the side of Clyde’s face in sharpie) he shrugs, taking the bottle and nonchalantly chugging as much as he possibly can. Kyle grins at him, the first time he’s seen him smile all night, and then he doesn’t feel as guilty.

 

An hour and whatever later, they’re both sat in the bathtub crying with laughter as Clyde (who came upstairs to hurl) jumps back and shakes the toilet water out of his hair, having just passed out and fallen in headfirst. With such a large lack of awareness and common sense, all he does is cry until Token comes in, gets wind of the situation pretty quickly and shoves his head into the sink. “Every fucking time, Clyde. Just puke in the sink and wash it away; you’d think you would’ve learned now, honestly.” Token’s quite drunk, judging from the way he’s wobbling slightly as he happily squirts hand soap into Clyde’s hair and eyes. “Craig, I think Tweek was looking for you.”

Instantly, he scrambles out of the bathtub (it takes several tries, at halfway through he has to stop so Kyle can kiss him on the forehead for good luck) and uses the serving platter at the top of the stairs to slide down them, helpfully landing in the pile of everyone’s coats and bags. It’s not hard to work out that Jimmy and Eric had been trying to perfect their stair-sledging (and judging by what looks like smashed china a couple feet away from the bottom of the stairs, they gave up again for a reason.) Tweek isn’t where Craig saw him last, but Bebe is, so he kind of wobbles his way over and uses her shoulder to steady himself when he eventually gets there. In general, drunk people manoeuvring themselves around people and floors with lots of shit on them isn’t easy, but Craig’s kind of 6’3 of legs, so he’s tripping quite a bit. “I thought you didn’t drink, Craig?” she laughs after she’s finished nodding to whatever Red’s saying to her.

“I. Drink like a motherfucker.”

“I admire that.”

“Tweek. Where’d you put him? You had him last.”

“I think he wandered off into the garden, honey. Want us to help you look?” she offers. Craig just shakes his head, not bothering to give an explanation and squeezing Bebe in thanks. He tries to shoot off and find the backdoor as quick as possible, but suddenly he's commandeered by Annie and Tammy and steered back into the seat Red's just vacated. For a couple seconds, nobody says anything and Craig just sits there semi-uncomfortably whilst the four girls intensely stare at him. Eventually, he bites.

"What?"

For an infuriating amount of time, they're  _still_ silent but eventually Red clears her throat. "Are you together again?"

Craig's brain drunkenly short circuits. "When was I broken?"

Collectively they roll their eyes and sigh like Tricia does when she realises he's eaten some of her chocolate stash. "Dumbass, she means you and Tweek. Have you stopped being splitsville?" slurs Tammy, leaning forward over his chair and laughing with the rest of them when he instinctively leans away. What?

"We weren't ever... togetherville. We still aren't togetherville."

Bebe laughs and turns to Red as they all somehow get closer (Craig's personal bubble is about to burst and he's not amused.) "Like that's a fucking word," she scoffs, and Craig takes the opportunity of being laughed at to slide out of the chair and through the gap between Tammy and Bebe's legs. Girls are a lot harder to understand when you're drunk.

There’s a backdoor to the kitchen somewhere but he’s not quite sure where, so he spends about five minutes poking his head into most of the rooms downstairs before Jimmy eventually takes pity on him and points him towards it, explaining that he’d walk him over there but Kevin and Bradley asked him for his crutches so they could have a swordfight and haven’t returned them yet.

It’s fucking cold outside, which Craig expected, so he’s thankful that this time Tweek’s quite easy to find. He’s sat on the nearest bench cosied up against the house and staring intensely at the night sky, muttering to himself under his breath. “Tweek?” he calls as he stumbles over, landing heavily next to him on the bench and instantly wrapping both arms around him. “You’re fucking freezing, man. Come inside.”

“You’re _drunk_?” he asks, his tone a little accusatory but too delighted to be much else. “Jesus, I- I never thought I’d see it.”

“You’ve seen me _drunk_ , asshole shit,” he frowns, not relinquishing his grip on the smaller boy.

“Yeah, but not- not like, at a _party_ , y’know.” Craig knows, humming in agreement. “It’s cold.”

“I know! Why’re you even outside? ‘s _gay_.”

“You’re gay. ‘n dunno. Stars.”

“Come inside ‘n hang with me and Kyle, yeah? We’ve been in the tub. Clyde put his head in the toilet.”

“Again?” Tweek asks in awe, bouncing out of his seat and tugging Craig by the sleeve of his hoodie to get him inside. Admittedly, he almost slips on the icy ground, but Tweek just keeps pulling him back towards the bubble of warmth and conversation in the kitchen. The music’s been turned down ever so slightly so Token doesn’t get any noise complaints (after weekly arguments with the police force, they agreed the noise cap was 11) and Craig thinks that faintly, he hears a door slam upstairs. Knitting his eyebrows, he leads Tweek up the stairs and tries to slide past Gary Harrison (who obviously doesn’t drink; nobody has any _clue_ as to why he comes to these things) who’s unhelpfully leaning against the wall in front of the now closed bathroom door. “Scooch?” Tweek asks, wiggling his hand at the bathroom door until Gary gets the idea.

“Sorry buddy, Stan doesn’t really want anyone else going in there right now,” he smiles, going back to staring at his shoelaces as if that was an acceptable response. After a solid minute of nobody saying anything (with Tweek and Craig being too drunk to realise that Gary’s too socially inept to realise they still want something) Craig clears his throat. “I do want to let you in, just Stan and Kyle are having a really important talk right now. You know how it is, right?”

Craig knows _exactly_ how it is. He also knows that he fucking _has_ to find a way to listen in on this important talk. Ignoring Gary’s protests, he drops to the floor and wiggles until his head is right up against the crack in the bathroom door. Tweek catches on pretty quickly, closing the door of the bedroom they’re in to cut off the music and joining him on the floor. Thankfully, they’re both disgustingly pissed meaning they’re both unnecessarily loud, which is incredibly helpful for the people trying to listen in. Stan’s slurring is making it somewhat difficult to hear exactly what he’s saying, but the general gist is that he’s broken up with Wendy _again_ and he’s so _tired_ of it and _her_ and everything about _all_ those fucking _girls._ Kyle’s mumbling and laughing and crying at the same time, but then he kind of just says it. As clear as day.

_Y’know I’m in love w’you, right?_

For a splitting few seconds there’s complete silence, and Craig squeezes back when Tweek squeezes his hand in hope. Then Stan laughs and there’s the sound of a bottle clinking against shower tiles. _‘course I know. We’re like. Soulmates, right? ‘s the only thing that makes sense._

Deep down, he feels sick, because he knows how much this is going to kill Kyle. Stan doesn’t ever blackout when he’s drunk, but what he _does_ do is pretend he can’t remember saying any of this. Every time, he and anyone else who decides to listen in with him gets their hopes up that this time it’s going to change, and then the following Monday they aren’t speaking for no apparent reason, and they’ve forgotten it by Tuesday. Craig decided a while ago that it was always going to be like this until somebody else stepped in – Stan’s too much of a closet-case to admit Wendy’s his beard or whatever they’re called, and Kyle’s too afraid of losing the shreds of friendship they have left to ever call him out on it – but Kyle doesn’t let anyone do that, and everyone respects him too much to risk going against him.

“I think,” Tweek whisper-hiccups, leaning into Craig’s neck and almost wobbling over, “this isn’t ours to hear.” As much as he wants to know how it ends, he kind of agrees – even though all four of them are incredibly drunk, there’s still an intense intimacy to the conversation in the bathroom, so much so that Craig’s starting to feel invasive just by listening in. “ _Gary_!” he hisses, not wanting to distract the two, “help us up?”

Arm in arm, they half walk and half tumble down the stairs before lovingly bidding Token goodbye and patting Clyde’s passed out head on their way out the front door. It’s bitterly cold outside so he tugs his hat down to cover his face as much as possible and informs Tweek that he’s too busy being cold to see, and he’s trusting him to guide him home. Tweek just laughs, but he reinforces the grip he has on his arm, so Craig is pretty sure he’s in good hands. “Ken and Butters are cute,” he hums, snorting when Craig jumps at the sudden noise and almost falls again.

“I mean, yeah?”

“Dunno. Just thought it.” He’s not wrong – they’re horrendously sweet together to the point where it would be sickening if it was anyone else other than them. “Whaddya want for Christmas?” he asks, repeating the last word until he slurs it together enough for it to be indiscernible. “Actually, ne’mind.”

“What? What’re you getting me?”

“Fuck off, I can’t just _tell_ you.”

“You _could_.”

“I need to ask your mom if it’s okay with her, actually. And Stripe. Gotta ask Stripe. Honestly, I do.” Craig laughs so loudly that someone sticks their head out of a nearby window to make sure they’re not doing anything illegal. Happily, he lets Tweek babble near-mindlessly the whole walk home because somehow he makes everything so goddamn interesting and honestly, he could talk forever and Craig wouldn't mind. Not only is it great to listen to, though, it’s also a great energy releaser because of how much he animates his whole body when he does it.

This means the second they finish loudly creeping into the house and up the stairs at no later than 02:17, he passes out as soon as his head hits the pillow. Instead, Craig decides to gently clamber over his sleeping body and open the window enough for him to stick a leg out and sit half-in, half-out and dreamily watch his breath cloud up into the night sky. In a way, they're the same in the way that they're complete opposites and they couldn't fit together more. Tweek stirs and twitches slightly when he lights a cigarette but then stays firmly buried in his pillow and carries on softly snoring. He's got a loose grip on the last stuffed toy Craig owns (his dad made him chuck them all when he was 12 because he was 'too old for that girly shit', but he managed to hide Mr Dog in the back of his cupboard) because he can't sleep without holding something and he never lets the little pillow he uses at home leave the house. It's weird, but in a strangely endearing way; like most of the things Tweek does, really. On top of all that, anyway, he puts up with Craig's shit, and that's more than he expected him to do. It's a relief, just in the way that being around him is different to being around anyone else - by no means is he a relaxed person, but he's the person Craig can be most at ease around. If he's gonna be gay about it, it's like a breath of fresh air. Or something. 

 

[On Monday, Wendy’s sat back on Stan’s lap giggling like they didn’t just break up two days ago. Kyle’s never looked so utterly, utterly crushed.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than i wanted it to be but i wanted to end it like that. should i let kyle be sad for a while or stage an intervention next chapter?  
> (also i'm literally so proud of myself for keeping up this chapter title fob thing)


	9. you'll put your eyes to the sun and say "i know you're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know,” Wendy eventually sighs, shoulders deflating ever so slightly.
> 
> “You- what?”
> 
> “I know, Tweek,” she repeats, laughing sadly and finally meeting his eyes. “How could I not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is almost definitely the only kyle-pov and style-centric chapter i'll do, but they definitely aren't going anywhere. sorry for shorter chapters & slower updates, i'm doing exams and personal shit atm but i promise i won't abandon this (i've already planned the ending)

Kenny is fed up of Stan, if he’s being honest. Don’t get him wrong, he still loves the guy to bits; how he’s treating Kyle is just getting really, really old. As much as he admires Kyle’s resilience when it comes to how Stan acts the morning after, it seems like it’s finally been destroyed. Like he does every time, Stan tries to joke with him and act like nothing’s happened – just this time, Kyle isn’t taking it. According to Craig, he rang him early this morning to ask for a lift (meaning he wasn’t there when Stan knocked on him to walk like they do every single day) and when he hasn’t been able to avoid him he’s blankly ignored him (Kenny’s favourite example: Stan almost getting a detention because Kyle didn’t respond when he asked to copy his chemistry homework.) The worst part, though, is that he’s not even asking _why_ Kyle’s doing this, because he obviously knows. He just sighs with this kind of sad acceptance and drops whatever he’s saying. Kyle always lets him turn away before he drops the blank expression he’s been forcing all day. So, with somebody else’s help (he hasn’t decided who yet) he’s going to put an end to this.

 Surprisingly, he gets a volunteer before he’s even considered asking anyone else. In the middle of second period math, Cartman chucks a paper ball at the back of his head and leans forward. “Ay, poor boy,” he hisses, sharply tugging on Kenny’s hair when he ignores him.

“Piss off, _fatboy_.”

“You’ve gotta fix this.”

“Fix _what?_ What’ve you done now?”

“Not _me_ , asshole. Kyle and Stan. Get them to kiss and make up or whatever the fuck they usually do.”

Kenny actually turns around at this point. “Why the fuck do you care? I thought you liked seeing Kyle unhappy?”

“I _do_ , but now Stan’s moping around and he’s moping around _me_ because he can’t find Kyle. It’s really fucking annoying, so sort it out.” All of Kenny is wholly ready to tell Cartman to shove his math textbook up his ass when he realises that this is exactly who he needs. The whole thing (see: Kenny’s awesome plan. Lock the two of them in the out-of-us storage cupboard in the English book after last period English) will seem too suspicious to Kyle if Kenny tries to lead him there. The only other two people who would be willing to help are Craig and Tweek; Craig’s too bad at acting to make it seem like a non-suspicious non-cupboard-locking situation, and Tweek doesn’t talk to Kyle enough for it to make any sense. Eric, however, is _perfect –_ Kyle might hate him, but he always follows him into random shit if Eric bugs him enough. It has to work.

 

Stan being Stan, he mopes after Kenny without question when he’s told there’s an immediate issue that Kenny needs urgent help with. Honestly, he’s not really sure how to act around Stan at the moment. It’s clear he kind of wants sympathy – and whilst Kenny absolutely _does_ sympathise with how obviously terrified he is of coming out, it still doesn’t excuse how he’s been treating Kyle. There were lots of ways around it – none of them involved staying with Wendy and refusing to talk about anything with anybody, resulting in fucking massively with Kyle’s head.

(To fully execute the plan, he needed Wendy to kind of open her eyes as to what was going on around her. Kenny wasn’t ever for getting inbetween people’s relationships; she just kind of needed to realise that her boyfriend had feelings for someone that wasn’t her. Kenny got Tweek to do this, because he’s in weird cahoots with all the girls in their grade (which neither he, Craig or even Tweek quite understand) and has gotten to a point in his friendship with Wendy where she happily talks about how shit Stan is at being a boyfriend. According to Tweek, this is what happened yesterday:

_Tweek shifted nervously on the old park bench, waiting for Wendy to respond – at this point anything, even her hitting him or something, would be better than her continuing to stay quiet. It’s bitterly cold and he internally curses himself for not wearing a sweater today, but he’s too focused at her blankly staring at the hem of her skirt to really care. “I know,” she eventually sighs, shoulders deflating ever so slightly._

_“You- what?”_

_“I **know** , Tweek,” she repeats, laughing sadly and finally meeting his eyes. “How could I not?”_

_“I- then why- I’m confused?” he tries._

_“I love Stan, and I think I always will. Both of us know it’s only as a friend, though, and I have to let him figure this out on his own. Telling him what he feels is only going to make him deny it more.” It made sense – Wendy was one of the smartest people in town, so they’d all always been confused as to how she hadn’t caught on to what Stan was actually feeling. “It’s always been Kyle, hasn’t it?”_

_He joins her in smiling sadly. “Yeah, I- I think so.”_

Kenny’s always admired Wendy for how much she put up with Stan being a sulky bitch when he wants to be, but this made it reach a new level of admiration. She could’ve been single, or even with someone else this whole time – instead, she stayed with Stan because she knew he needed time to figure himself out.

“Am I bad person?” Stan asks from behind his locker door. He looks like he hasn’t slept since Monday night (and he probably hasn’t.)

Kenny sighs dejectedly, shutting Stan’s locker door when it becomes clear he opened it for no reason. “No, Stan. I don’t think you’ve been a very good person to Kyle, but you aren’t a bad person.” He seems to accept this, because they don’t speak again until they arrive at the storage cupboard. “I need you to climb onto that cupboard and then put whatever I pass you on top. A small part of him is glad Stan’s reached a sort of depressive state, because in any other he would definitely question why Kenny’s making him stack two empty beer cans, lolly sticks and other random shit he’s been picking up all day on top of a cupboard. They continue in silence for a couple more seconds before he catches the sound of Kyle complaining about whatever Eric’s about to make him do as he’s virtually dragged down the hallway. Stan’s ears practically perk up at this before his eyes narrow slightly.

“What’s going on?” he frowns, and he looks like he’s about to clamber down when Cartman shoves Kyle through the doorway (a little harder than necessary judging by how he bangs into the shelves at the side,) grabs Kenny by the arm and roughly yanks him out of the room. Both Stan and Kyle start to yell at them with the latter reaching out for the door handle, but Kenny slams it shut and holds it closed whilst Eric produces the key from his pocket and locks the door.

“Where’d you get that?” he says incredulously, because this part of his plan had involved them taking turns to hold the doorknob until the other two got tired of trying.

“I didn’t wanna spend my afternoon sat on the shitty floor listening to those gaywads crying, so I took the key.” Kenny doesn’t really want to ask how he managed to steal it. “C’mon, let’s go to Skeeters for like, an hour, and see if they’re fucking when we come back.” Kenny shrugs at the door Kyle is currently banging on and then nods. “I’m not buying you anything.”

-

_“Kenneth McCormick you are a fucking **traitor**!” Kyle roars, shouldering the locked door with all the force he can muster. Because God, the world and everyone in it hates him, it stays very firmly shut. He dutifully ignores Stan saying **dude, don’t break it** from where he’s still sat on top of the cupboard and instead sits with his back against the door and knees against his chest, resolving not to move or speak again until Kenny finally gives in and unlocks the door. He should’ve **known** that Kenny would pull something like this soon enough. _

_“I think they’ve left,” sighs Stan, and Kyle watches in his peripheral as he uncrosses his legs and slumps against the wall, momentarily closing his eyes. He looks worryingly tired, and Kyle finds himself staring at the dark circles under his eyes for a while before he remembers that he doesn’t care anymore. He’s not going to let himself care anymore. “Kyle?” he asks, and Kyle manages to look away just before he opens his eyes again. “Kyle,” Stan pleads, and it takes every shred of self-control he possesses not to turn and look. Eventually, he lies down on the top of the cupboard, head resting on the raised shelves next to it and feet dangling off of the side. “Wendy and I broke up again,” he announces, not expecting a response this time. That’s what Stan does when he doesn’t know what else to do: he talks. “It’s for real this time.” He huffs when he hears Kyle scoff slightly, rolling over to face the ceiling and stare dejectedly at the crumbling paint. “I know how many times I’ve said that, and I really mean it when I say I’m sorry for- for pretending I could do something I wasn’t ready for. But she told me how she really feels, and told me to stop pretending that I really felt anything.” He takes a deep breath and rakes a hand through his hair. Kyle tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “I love Wendy as a friend. I’ve loved her as a friend since like, ninth grade, and I think deep down I always knew that she knew. She was my excuse- no, that sounds wrong. Uh, she was kind of an excuse to myself? Does that make sense?”_

_Kyle stays silent, which Stan seems to take as a no (which is good, because it didn’t make sense.) “This whole time I’ve been telling myself that I- I **have** to be straight. There’s no way I can’t be- I mean, what would my dad say?”_

_The last comment hits him the hardest, because in a selfish kind of way he’d never even considered how Randy would react. Sharon is possibly the most supportive mom Kyle’s ever met, but Randy – he’s not a bad person, and he didn’t treat Kyle that differently after he came out, but he’s a horrendously unpredictable alcoholic. It’s largely possible that he’d blame Kyle for **turning Stan gay** or something like that, or that he just wouldn’t react well._

_“So, I just stayed with Wendy, and kept telling myself **look! You’ve got a girlfriend, you must be straight.** And it just kept working, and I never drank around her so I never told her how I actually felt.”_

_“How do you actually feel?” Kyle finally asks, voice a near-whisper because he’s not sure whether he wants Stan to hear him._

_Stan sits up, sneakers clunking against the wooden doors as he turns to face him with a dull thud. “I- You know how I actually feel.”_

_“Then why didn’t you say something?” he challenges, finally meeting eyes with the other boy. The silence he’s met with is an explanation in its own way. “You’ve had **years** to come to me and at **least** tell me that you were too scared to be with me. That’s all you had to do!”_

_“You... would’ve been okay with that?” he says slowly, sliding down from the cupboard as Kyle stands up, still keeping his distance._

_As the anger slowly ebbs away he lets his shoulders sag against the cold door. “No. It would’ve killed me. But not as much as it was killing me watching you try and convince me you were still in love with **Wendy** ,” he spits, not liking how harsh her name sounds when it comes out of his mouth. He used to love Wendy – they had so much in common and took most of the same subjects, so it just made sense for them to hang out after school – but now he can barely look at her. It’s not even her fault. “Imagine the person you’ve been in love with since sixth grade telling you that- that you’re soulmates, that you’re meant to be together and that they love you even more than you love them. Then imagine them cuddling up to their girlfriend the next day and fucking **pretending** they can’t remember saying **anything** -_

_“We **are** soulmates, Kyle,” he interrupts. “You’re my favourite person in the whole wide world and I hate myself for being such a fucking asshole to you and I would completely understand if- if you could never ever look at me again and-” he stops to take a breath, and Kyle realises with some sort of painful acceptance that he’s **crying** , tears streaming down his cheeks, “and I just need you to know that even if that happens I’ll still feel the same, even if you **hated** me I would still feel the same-”_

_“I do hate you,” he says, but he’s stepping closer to Stan anyway. Both of them swallow, the air getting tighter as they get closer to each other. “I hate you so fucking much,” he says, but then he swallows and says what he actually means. “If we did this,” he starts, indicating between the two of them, “would you be honest about it?”_

_Stan nods rapidly before Kyle’s even finished talking. “I’d tell anyone you wanted me to. I’ll tattoo your name on my forehead if that’s what it takes. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”_

_“I don’t know,” he shrugs as his eyes drop to stare at the fraying laces of his sneakers, “it still doesn’t feel real.”_

_“It **is** real,” he insists, voice cracking slightly in desperation. “It’s always been really, really real. I just pretended it wasn’t.” Kyle sighs, because he **knows** this, and Stan kind of deflates, like he’s kind of giving up. “I know that absolutely no part of me deserves any part of you,” he whispers, and Kyle meets his eyes for this and licks his lips nervously. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still want you. I fucked you over so, so bad, and if you let me I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”  _

_Slowly, he curls his hand around the back of Kyle’s neck as if he’s unsure and waiting for him to show some kind of rejection. “Is this okay?” he murmurs. He’s still waiting for Kyle to say no._

_Kyle doesn’t say no. He nods._

_Stan shoots forward before Kyle can even close his eyes, taking advantage of his mouth parting in shock and pushing his tongue against the other boy’s. It’s the best feeling in the world, making him fly in a way that drunk kisses in Token’s garden shed never ever could. Instead of the usual haze floating around of them he’s hyperaware of everything going on; Stan’s fingers tightening in his hair, how soft the skin of his back is when he slips his hand up Stan’s shirt._

__Kenny kicks out without letting his eye leave where it’s firmly glued to the keyhole of the storage closet (and Cartman makes some kind of angry noise when his boot connects with a solid lump, so he’s quite pleased with himself.) “You’re homophobic, dude – trust me, you don’t wanna see this. It’s all _kinds_ of gay.”

“I am _not_ fucking homophobic, Kenny!” he protests, trying again to shove Kenny away from where he’s kneeling by the door. He succeeds, because he’s actually quite strong when he’s trying and Kenny doesn’t really weigh that much. “I don’t care if people are faggots, as long as they don’t try and be gay with _me_ \- oh, _dude_!” he yelps, scrambling away from the keyhole with as much elegance as an overweight asshole can possess. “I just saw Stan’s dick!” he whines, flipping off Kenny when he gleefully laughs. “Just shove the key under the fucking door and leave, dude! Don’t be a gay voyeur.”

“You _wish_ I was _your_ gay voyeur,” he insists, but he slides it under the door anyway and clambers to his feet, ducking and running when Cartman hits out at him. “You’re lucky that actually worked, Kenny, or I’d rip your balls off for making me see Stan’s dick.”

“Surely hand to ball contact is gayer than voyeurism?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, poor boy,” he warns. Kenny doesn’t really care.


	10. i'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like Kenny isn’t glad about this – a small part of him might resent the fact that nobody told her to step up when he was younger, to be a real mother to him, but he’s still glad Karen has at least this – he’s just not sure where he stands in terms of a relationship with her now.

Tweek’s mashing his face into his maths homework when the two of them properly talk about it for the first time. Obviously, Craig asked how it went when he first came out last Saturday, but they didn’t really speak in depth – Tweek said he liked her, and thanked Craig for sitting outside for an hour to wait (even though the first time he’d come out to find him asleep on the armchair,) and that was really it. Not even in a way that Tweek was hiding it from him. This was the kind of thing you needed to dedicate lots of time to, and they hadn’t really had that opportunity all week. Craig’s half listening as he sketches the trig shapes Tweek’s meant to be drawing for him, but when he sits back on his heels and clears his throat slightly he really starts to listen. “Do- do you know what psy-” is all he initially says, swallowing heavily before attempting to continue. “I- I don’t know how to- _ngh_ \- to say it.” Without speaking Craig passes him the pencil he’s been using and flips over the homework sheet, indicating for him to write it on the back. _Psychosomatic_ is what he scrawls on the back of it (and, if he’s being honest, he only knows the meaning of the word from the time Token made them all watch Sherlock.) “She says that- that with more work it’ll g-go away. The- the spasms a-are muscle damage and they’re p-permanent but the stammer isn’t.”

“That’s good news, right?”

He nods, smiling softly. Because of the way he keeps digging his nails into his palm in favour of having anything to keep them busy, Craig swoops down and picks up Stripe in his ball, placing it in front of the other boy and letting him take Stripe out – he’s always very careful to be gentle when he’s got the guinea pig, which doesn’t leave much room for him to pick at his skin.  “She’s using hypnotherapy. It- it’s weird.”

“Good or bad weird?” Craig asks, even though he can kind of tell from the tone of his voice.

“Good. It was- _ngh-_ hard to get into, a-at first. But it’s the- the most relaxed I’ve ever been.”

“That’s good, then. My ideas are always good.”

“No they aren’t.”

“Fuck you, yes they are. This is real proof that my ideas are good.”

“Your ideas are- are _occasionally_ good,” is all he gives him in the end, but Craig’s happy to take that. It’s when he thinks they’ve kind of dropped the conversation and he’s started trying to balance the pencil on the tip of his nose that Tweek mumbles something else – it’s so quiet that Craig isn’t sure if it was a tic or actual words, but then he gets an eye-roll. An eye-roll means Tweek is purposely didn’t speak clear enough for Craig to hear and is now pretending to be annoyed because he didn’t hear. _This_ usually means he’s embarrassed. To counter, Craig just raises an eyebrow.

“Lucie,” he sighs (his therapist’s name,) “she said. Uh, she thinks.”

“Use your words,” he teasingly prompts, letting himself fall back onto the mattress to avoid when Tweek swings at his arm.

“ _She thinks you’re good for me_ ,” he practically forces out through gritted teeth. At first, Craig just stares at the back of his head.

“She doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah I _know_ , dipshit. I- _I_ know you.”

“You spent your therapy session talking about me? Cute.” Craig utterly deserves the pillow he gets slapped with, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hit out at Tweek until he backs off.

-

When Kenny wakes up, it’s from Kevin dumping a cup of cold water on his head. Immediately he tries to swing out at him to stop whatever else is about to happen, but instead he finds himself virtually glued to his pillow with the amount of pain that shoots through his head when he moves it. The iciness of the water (which, after re-evaluating he decides is actually half-melted snow) makes him realise how feverishly hot he is and how quickly it’s completely melting on his clammy skin. “What the fuck?” he tries to groan, but not much noise comes out.

“You got what I had,” is the only explanation Kevin really gives him. Kenny doesn’t remember Kevin being ill at all recently; but then again, he doesn’t remember seeing him around at all either. “It’s gonna pass by tomorrow. The bad bit will.”

“Pass me my phone,” he half-whispers and half-gestures, but he’s met with a light punch to the leg.

“Not your slave,” he grins, leaving at the same time Karen sticks her head in through the door. “Have fun.” Karen wrinkles her nose at him.

“You okay, Ken?” She frowns when he screws up his face in response and hurries over to put her palm up against his forehead. “You’re too clammy.” He just nods, because it’s not like he doesn’t know that. “I don’t know if I can stay home today... god, I’ll have to.” Kenny gives her the _look_ he sees Sheila give Kyle when he does things like put his feet on the couch when his shoes are on – the kind of look he thinks his mom would give them if she was a remotely capable parent. “You can’t stay like this all day by yourself.”

“I’ll make sure he’s alright,” his mom says from his doorway, sinking against the wood slightly when Karen makes the apprehension on her face overly obvious. “You need to get to school now. He’ll be fine.” Carol used to be as bad as Stuart, in a way. She never hit him, or Kevin, but she would shriek at them for hours and wouldn't give a shit about anything other than whether they were pissing off their dad. She was always different with Karen, though, (Kevin thinks it’s a ‘girl’ thing) and Kenny decided to make the most of that a long time ago. He sat her down one afternoon before she’d had anything to drink and told her very angrily that if she didn’t step up her parenting, he was going to move in to the tiny apartment block on the main street with her (or anywhere else he could scrape enough together to afford) and cut them off completely. _You’ve already completely failed at being a remotely decent mother to me or Kevin, and you know that,_ he’d spat. _Karen is the last one of us who can actually do something with her life than sell meth from their fucking backyard. Don’t you **dare** fuck that up for her. _ And somehow, it sunk in. Carol stopped screaming at Karen for pissing off their dad and actually started standing up for her. She made sure that she sent her off at the right time every morning so she wouldn't miss the school bus, and even learnt (from Kenny, no less, because he was the one who’d been doing it for years) how to put her hair up for her when she wanted. If she found money stashed in one of their rooms, she stopped taking it and let them save up to buy her new shoes or schoolbooks or a winter coat. It’s not like Kenny isn’t glad about this – a small part of him might resent the fact that nobody told her to step up when he was younger, to be a real mother to _him_ , but he’s still glad Karen has at least this – he’s just not sure where _he_ stands in terms of a relationship with her now. She hasn’t stopped drinking until she passes out some nights, but it used to be every night, and she still gets up almost every morning to make sure he goes into school. She keeps asking about Stan and Kyle and even Butters too, and it seems to be in a genuinely-interested-in-his-life way.

Kenny doesn’t trust it, but she doesn’t seem to blame him for that. Karen looks at him for reassurance, kissing his forehead when he croaks out that he doesn’t mind (she doesn’t even complain that he’s dripping with sweat.) He waits until he hears the front door bang before he turns to look at her properly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re real sick. Kevin puked his guts up last time he was sick.”

“ _I’ll be fine_.”

She sighs, but doesn’t argue, just props his door open. “Bang on your wall if you need me.”

“Don’t drink too much,” he retorts, rolling over to face his wall before she can say anything else and ignoring the pain that seems to be splitting his skull in two. “Won’t be able to get up.” When he hears her eventually leave he reaches up and blindly closes the curtain that Kevin yanked open earlier, finally able to properly open his eyes in the near-darkness of the room. Part of him wonders what it’ll take for him to finally forgive her. So far, he hasn’t thought of anything.

 

For a couple of hours he drifts in an out of feverish sleep, eventually lying eagle spread on his back in just his boxers in attempt to cool down. When it doesn’t work, he decides to go and lie in the snow for a couple of minutes – either he cools down, or he dies of hypothermia. It’s a win-win situation.

Unfortunately, his plan is hindered by the disgustingly overwhelming wave of nausea he’s hit by the second he stands, giving him roughly ten seconds to catapult himself towards the bathroom (he makes it, barely,) and drop next to the toilet before he starts to choke on the vomit he’s holding in. He’s too dizzy to actually support his own body whilst he kneels so he braces his arm across the seat, lets his head rest on it and throws up everything in him. Because he’s been giving his lunches to Karen, it’s not much, so after a couple heavy chunders he’s just choking up bile and burning his throat so much it’s making him feel even more nauseous. His mom doesn’t rub his back, because she understands basic boundaries and roughly comprehends how he’d feel about that, but she does sit down next to him and offers him a chipped mug of water when he stops throwing up enough to breathe. “Blow your nose,” she suggests, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and handing it to him when he doesn’t move. He doesn’t really get why she’s telling him to but he does it anyway, simultaneously disgusted, intrigued and relieved when a whole chunk of snot and vomit comes out and leaves him able to breathe a little better.

“Cheers,” he mutters, the silence that would’ve been awkward being instead filled with more retching noises. After a minute of gagging on nothing and mentally deliberating, he clears his throat. “Can you go get my phone?” he asks, adding a quieter “please,” onto the end when she doesn’t respond. For a couple more seconds he thinks she’s ignored him, but then she stands without warning and returns with his phone. Unfortunately, every time she tries to pass it to him, he retches again, and he’s _just_ producing enough stomach content for it to be an issue. “Do me a favour and-” he pauses to gag a couple times, “and ring Kyle? Passcode’s two-eight-one-one.”

Again, she doesn’t give any kind of response or any other indication she’s heard him other than her eventually kicking into motion and doing what seems to be ringing Kyle.

“Hello? Where are you, dude?”

She holds it up to his ear without him needing to ask, which he didn’t expect. “I’m quite sick, actually,” he croaks.

“Oh, that sucks. Are you-” is all he hears before he pulls away to retch again, accepting the new bit of tissue he’s handed to wipe whatever’s dribbled down his chin. “Yikes, man. I’ll let Butters know.”

“And Craig?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure?”

“Thanks, bye,” is all he manages to get out before he needs to lean back over the bowl, quite sure Kyle gets more sick-y noises before his mom hangs up for him. “Thanks. For that.”

“’s alright,” she says, weirdly quickly, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. There’s more silence for a while after that, mostly because if he stays perfectly still he feels a lot less ill and he’s quite a fan of that. “Why’s that your code?”

“Why d’you care?” he says before he really thinks about it, not really liking how harsh it sounds when it comes out. “Sorry. It’s, uh- it’s an important day. To me.”

“You mind telling me what it is?”

He bites back another response and almost feels bad for wanting to tell her to fuck off, because even if it’s weird she’s actually trying here. “That blonde kid who’s here a lot.”

“You two together?” she asks. She doesn’t sound angry or weird, just kind of surprised, and understands what he means when he doesn’t say anything in response. “I- that’s sweet.” Kenny never really expected her to care if she’d ever somehow found out, because she always stood in the way when his dad used to chuck things at him when he’d come home dressed like a princess in 4th grade. _Why d’you fuckin’ care, huh? You never usually give two shits about what he’s doing_ , was always her go-to, but it was a fair point and usually shut him down. “Karen says he’s real nice, that boy.”

“He is.”

“Good.”

Seemingly, his stomach became empty a while ago, but it’s only now that his body eventually gives up trying to throw up something that isn’t there. It then changes track immediately and gurgles at him with hunger, which just doesn’t really make much sense. Just to make sure, they both stay there for a couple more minutes and he sits up properly to make sure movement doesn’t make him retch again. “You okay to get back to bed?”

He grunts in response in a way that means _probably_ , but his mind quickly changes when he tries to stand up.

The fever must have some kind of delirious effect, because when he wakes up in his bed some time later he’s convinced he got there magically. When his mom comes up to check on him a while later she explains he fainted and then was carried into bed, and then she laughs at him for being so light. Surprisingly, he only flips her off in a he’s-laughing-too way. Both of them stop laughing, but she doesn’t leave. Instead she sits on the end of the bed and kind of stares at his floor for a weird amount of time. “I know you hate me for bein’ a shit mom.” Her silence isn’t waiting for a response, so he lets her take a deep breath and carry on. “And I know I can’t make up for- for all that time. I just want you to know I’m tryin’ real hard to be a- a not-shit mom.”

He doesn’t say anything back for a while, and he can feel it in the way the bed creaks uncertainly that she thinks he’s not going to say anything at all. “You’re a good mom to Karen,” he eventually says. “Keep trying.”

“Is it workin’?” she asks, kind of with this weird excited voice he doesn’t hear her use very often, so he can’t help but crack a weak smile.

“Slowly.”

She seems to be happy enough with that due to the way she lightly ruffles his hair before leaving his room and carefully closing the door behind her. Kenny tries to let the soft darkness of his room consume him again but the snatches of sleep he manages to get are incredibly restless and no more than twenty minutes each time round. So he just lays there, accepting the sudden temperature change and freezing into his bedsheet, drifting in and out of sleep until he hears the front door bang open and Karen call out to him from the living room. The lack of response he gives seems to be indication enough for her to come in, but there’s definitely more than one set of footsteps creaking outside his bedroom. He has to squint in order to minimise the shooting pain in his head when the light comes through the crack of his opening door, so he doesn’t really see Butters standing awkwardly behind Karen until she shuts the door. “We brought you some soup!” she cheers, bounding over to the bed to check his temperature again and frowning as soon as she touches his head. “You feel, like, the opposite to how you did earlier. You’re burning up.”

“I feel fucking freezing,” he says hoarsely, smiling weakly as Butters shuffles over and sits next to Karen on the bed.

“The soup should warm you up?” she suggests, holding out the flowery blue flask Craig got her for her birthday.

Kenny shrugs, pushing himself up into a slouched sitting position and ignoring the way it makes his head spin. “I’ll try. Don’t be offended if I hurl, I’ve already utterly emptied my stomach.”

“I won’t be, don’t worry Ken,” Butters says, Kenny now pretty confident that he was the one who made the soup. “If you aren’t hungry you can always save it until later.”

“I’m starving, I just don’t know whether it’ll, like, _stay_ in my stomach.”

Sure enough, it doesn’t. It’s a shame, too, because it’s probably the best chicken soup he’s ever had in his life – half of it wasted by re-appearing not even five minutes after he started eating it. His mom joins him in the bathroom again with another mug of water, but this time Butters is softly rubbing his back and coaxing him to ‘get it all out, buddy’ as he completely empties his stomach again. Currently, he’s unable to lift his head and his eyes are watering too much from the burn in his throat, but he can still feel the way his mom is watching the two of them. Part of him wants her approval, part of him hates himself for wanting it and part of him doesn’t know how to feel at all. So instead he just leans into Butters’ side to try and absorb some warmth into his shaking body, nodding gratefully when Karen comes in to drape her knitted blanket over his shoulders. Eventually he stops retching, but he the lack of energy to move he’s met with is so devastating that he just half-lays and half-collapses into Butters. “Want me to carry you, Ken?” he softly mumbles against the back of his neck. Kenny doesn’t respond at first, still feeling his mom’s eyes bore into his back. After it’s clear Butters is obviously waiting for a confirmation he slowly shakes his head and decides he wants to hang on to the shred of dignity he may or may not possess – he’s only being carried if he’s unconscious, basically.

“Help me walk?” he asks and waits for Butters to stand before accepting the hand he holds up and slowly standing. All he manages to do is kind of whisper an “uh-oh,” as he completely falls forward. In the back of his mind he tries really, really hard to stay at least remotely conscious as he feels Butters grab him and pull him back up.

“Ken? You okay, Kenny?” he frets, making some kind of worried noise when Kenny’s only able to slur some kind of half-awake response. “Oh, Jesus.”

“’s alright. Just needs to lie down,” Carol speaks up from where she’s been silently watching.

“Um, o-okay. I’ll carry him to bed, then.” Embarrassingly he’s then picked up bridal style and then carted out of the bathroom, genuinely losing consciousness for a couple seconds before he’s gently lain down in his bed. “Oh, Ken,” he sighs, sitting down next to him and running his fingers through Kenny’s gross hair.

“’m cold,” he croaks out after a couple minutes of content silence. Before he can even open his eyes Butters has seemingly rushed into action.

“Can you sit up real quick? I have a sweater,” he prompts, coaxing him up into a weak sitting position and laughing softly when Kenny sticks his arms up in the air. “Yeah, that’s it.” The wool is soft and warm against his skin, so he happily collapses back into his pillows with his face buried in it. “Want me to give you a cuddle?”

“Don’t want you to get ill.”

“I take vitamins every day! I’ll be fine,” he insists, and if Kenny had any more energy then he’d probably carry on protesting because he really doesn’t want Butters to get ill. Instead he selfishly gives in and lets Butters lie down next to him, happily wrapping his arms around his torso and burying his face into the other boy’s neck. “Gosh, Ken, you’re like a radiator.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but the added comfort is already making him start to drift off. “Love you.” There’s silence for an uncomfortably long period of time (or, at least, he’d probably find it uncomfortable if he couldn’t hear the pounding in his head.) “You don’t have to say it back, Butters.”

“Well, are you only saying it ‘cause you’re real sick?”

“I mean it,” he yawns, so close to sleep that he _almost_ misses Butters saying it back (he just about catches it, though, and it makes him feel ten times better.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this only took me like three nights i just never have any time i have an exam tomorrow but what's revision idk her


	11. i'm outside the door, invite me in so we can go back and play pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, you little shit,” Clyde curses. “I bought you a goddamn tie.”  
> “No you didn’t. It was buy-one-get-one-free, and you made Token give you the money for it anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i was like really ill! please tell me what to write about next i'm a little stumped for plot

About two weeks after Kenny comes back to school because he’s _finally_ recovered (and no, the time before that wouldn’t be complete without Craig having to drive him home because he came in insisting he was fine and then ended up puking all over Stan’s backpack,) Craig starts noticing it. At first, as he always as, he puts it down as everyone else just being weird and annoying because it’s _South Park_ , and that tends to be how people _are_. When that doesn’t quite cut it anymore, he attributes it to the weird air that floats around whenever there’s a school event that requires some sort of date – the winter ball they’re apparently having, for example – and at the moment, he’s happy enough with that explanation not to push it any further. Something still isn’t quite right, though.

It starts with Red leaning on his desk very matter-of-factly in the middle of homeroom, happily ignoring the sheet of homework he was trying to do that she’s just half-sat on. “The winter ball is like, next week.”

One random tenth grader he doesn’t really know said this to him yesterday in more of a suggestive voice, but that was leaning against his locker instead of his desk and Red’s his cousin so he thinks it’s safe to assume that she’s not trying to be suggestive. He figures “no shit,” is a pretty safe response, regardless of what she’s trying to hint at.

“Well?” she prompts after he doesn’t do anything other than tug the paper out from under her and start scribbling on it again.

“ _Well_ what?”

“Have you asked him yet?”

“Asked _who_?”

He’s not entirely sure what’s going on, but the one thing he’s certain of is that he absolutely did not deserve the light smack he gets on the top of his head – especially not in the way she removes his hat to do it. “ _Tweek_ , dumbass. _Obviously_?”

“Dude, what?” he frowns, momentarily too distracted to really notice that she’s now put his hat on. Red being Red, she doesn’t respond and instead gets distracted by the work he’s been trying to do. “ _Red_ ,” he protests, swiping the sheet back when she _still_ doesn’t acknowledge he’s even spoken.

“What? Oh- yeah, what the fuck are you on about? Why haven’t you asked him yet?”

“Why _have_ I asked him? No, fuck- I mean, why _would_ I ask him? Dammit.”

Red sighs, spending a couple more seconds staring at him like he’s just said the stupidest thing he could possibly have come out with before rolling her eyes and walking over to go and sit with Kevin Stoley. Craig gets the feeling he must have said something really fucking dumb for Kevin Stoley to be better company, but even after replaying the conversation a couple times over in his head he can’t really work out what he did wrong. In the end, he doesn’t even end up finishing the sheet and nearly gets a detention for it (Token, being a godsend, begrudgingly slides him the answers in the middle of the lesson.)

 

Because it’s Red, and girls say weird stuff to him all the time that tends to be about or related to Tweek, he kind of just brushes the whole encounter aside and forgets about it; he then goes on to do the same when Annie and one of the Asian girls separately do the same thing (well, he _thinks_ that’s what the Asian girl is getting from the Korean she’s trying to speak to him in and winter ball flyer she hands him.) When _Kyle_ asks him about it is when he gets really weirded out. They’re sat over at Kyle’s both ignoring Stan playing Street Fighter in the corner and trying to do the project they were set in maths yesterday. Instead he’s sat at Kyle’s desk balancing all the pencils he can find in some kind of shitty tower whilst the other boy is continually bouncing a soccer ball against the wall he’s sat next to. It starts simply, with Stan not even pausing the game to go “Kyle, we’re going to that gay school thing together, right?” and grinning when Kyle says yes. “Kenny said he’ll bring his shitty hip flask. You going, Craig?”

Craig shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise – zero part of him wants to go, but he also thinks Clyde will drag him there very forcefully, so it’s probably best just to go with it. “Who you going with?” Kyle asks when Stan makes it clear he’s already lost interest in the conversation he started.

“Uh. Nobody? Clyde and Token and Jimmy, I guess.”

“What about Tweek?”

Craig shrugs again, running out of pencils and starting to add on the tiny animal rubbers Kyle pretends he doesn’t use anymore. “Those kinds of things freak him out. Don’t think he’s coming with.”

“Haven’t you asked him?”

“No? Haven’t asked the rest of them either but it’s kind of, like. Assumed.”

“Shithead, I mean have you _asked_ asked him.”

The pencil tower wobbles and sadly crumbles when he tries to put a too-big dolphin rubber at the top of it. “Dude, why do people keep asking me that? Why would I ask Tweek to be my date?”

Kyle turns and blinks at him, half-acknowledging the way Stan stops to look at them without pausing the game. “Why _wouldn't_ you?”

Craig doesn’t really get what’s going on with everybody at the moment. Maybe it’s something in the water.

At least- well, he was _almost_ still willing to chalk it down to people just being like this in South Park, but he doesn’t quite miss the way Tweek reacts when he tries to laugh with him about it. It should just be a passing remark, something they can both laugh and roll their eyes at and then completely forget about. But as much as it seems like that (because neither of them bring it up again, not even when Craig can hear all of the girls questioning Tweek about it on the table next to them in the cafeteria,) he still feels kind of weird after he brings it up. Part of him still thinks he must’ve imagined it- because really, what reason would Tweek have to do anything other than laugh? (He did laugh, for the record, but it came too fast and high-pitched, and Craig _thinks_ he saw him stiffen for a second before he did it.) Maybe Tweek wants to go with someone else but now thinks everyone will hate him for not going with Craig? No, he would’ve just told Craig that. Maybe he hates the idea of the stupid ball so much that even talking about it makes him uncomfortable? No, he would’ve told Craig that too (there isn’t much he doesn’t tell him, really.) Unless... Unless Clyde told him that Craig was gay and Tweek... what, doesn’t like it? Doesn’t like _him_ anymore?

None of it really makes any sense.

-

In the end, he decides not to bother. Clyde and Jimmy, _surprisingly_ , didn’t end up with dates so after Token reluctantly agrees to go with them instead of Nichole (he immediately backs out later after Clyde shows him the matching ties they’re all apparently going to wear) he gives Craig side eyes that say _run whilst you still can._ When Craig doesn’t get that message, he tries to push away the matching tie that’s being strung around his neck and dramatically reaches out to him. “Run, Craig! It’s too late for me, but you can still go!”

Clyde blinks at him, hands not stopping until he’s finished tying a really bad tie. “Dude.”

“Yeah, actually-”

“If you b-b-bail, we’ll kill you,” Jimmy warns, narrowing his eyes when Craig holds up the mince pie in defence.

“I remembered. I have plans.”

“W-what plans would th-those b-b-be, exactly?” he counters, the three of them choosing to ignore the way Clyde mutters _traitorous bitch_ under his breath.

“I. I have to, um. Babysit?”

“Oh, you little shit,” Clyde curses. “I bought you a goddamn tie.”

“No you didn’t. It was buy-one-get-one-free, and you made Token give you the money for it anyway.” Craig’s pretty sure that a packet of chips is what hits him when he covers his face, but he declines to acknowledge it and instead slowly backs out of Jimmy’s living room, walking backwards until he bumps into the chair Tweek’s sat in at the kitchen table. “Jesus!” he curses, nearly walking into the fridge in attempt to stop being in the way. “Wait- you’re not going to that gay ball, right?”

Tweek sighs, rubbing his eyes and pushing away his phone from where it’s lying in front of him. Jimmy invited them all over to ‘co-ordinate outfits’ but it felt weird not inviting Tweek, so he just sat in the kitchen with a sandwich. “No, a-and don’t try to make me.”

“No, that’s perfect – you wanna come over? My parents are going out so we can have a movie night or some shit.”

“Uh,” Tweek blinks, rubbing his eyes a couple more times as if it’s going to wake him up more, “Aren’t _you_ going to that gay ball?”

“I’d rather die.”

“But- _ngh-_ what about the matching ties?”

“Fuck you,” he grins, both of them gleefully ignoring Clyde calling him a traitor _again_ from the living room. “You wanna come over or not, asshole?”

“’course. I’m picking the- the movies, though.”

 

Craig, in his utter delight of somehow getting out of going to that god-awful ball with next to no repercussions, has forgotten Tweek’s taste in movies. He’s scared of practically everything, which is what makes it so easy to forget that his favourite kinds of movies are gory, psychologically-scarring horror films. On the other hand, despite how manly and brave Craig is every second of the day, he’s not the biggest fan of such movies. Tweek, as his best friend, doesn’t care.

Still, nothing can really prepare him for Blair Witch. He hasn’t seen the Blair Witch Project, despite the amount of times Token’s tried to make him watch it (him and Tweek get weird about these movies – Jimmy usually steers clear and Clyde cried when they made him watch a Saw movie so they’ve given up with him) but he’s heard about it. That nowhere _near_ prepares him for how sickeningly terrifying this film is. At first, he’s not really taking it seriously, but then this girl’s neck fucking snaps out of nowhere and then everything turns to shit. The worst part is that whilst he’s sweating from pure fear, Tweek is sat there with extreme interest and maybe mild interest on his face, occasionally chuckling at how much Craig is shitting himself. “I hate you for making me watch this,” he grits out from where he’s buried his head between the sofa cushion and Tweek’s warm side. “I’m fucking scarred.”

“It’s really not that bad. I- I haven’t been scared, like, at all.”

“If one part of this movie scares you at all, you owe me.”

“Sure,” he agrees, and it’s aggravating how funny he seems to find this agreement. Craig just stays with his face firmly mashed into Tweek’s side and removes his hat so he can hear what’s going on. It’s been over an hour since the film started, so hopefully it’s going to end soon – the amount of apparent deaths he’s seen or heard it _must_ be over soon or they’ll run out of characters.

“Who’s left?” he mumbles, refusing to look when Tweek tugs his jumper.

“Only two. Lisa and James,” Tweek whispers back, clearly immersed in whatever’s happening. “They found that house they thought was burned down, and Lisa just stabbed Lane because he got obsessed.” Craig lets himself focus on how Tweek doesn’t stammer at all when he’s really focused on something, and then how it’s been drastically improving over the last month overall. There’s more confidence behind his words now that he trusts himself not to mess them up as much. It’s nice. “ _Don’t turn around, don’t turn around,_ ” he mutters at the TV. “It’ll kill them if they look at it.” Obviously, they’re going to look at it. From behind him on the TV there’s a loud noise and a yell, and Tweek tenses just slightly. “He turned around,” he explains, hand tightly gripping the back of Craig’s sweater. “She pretended to be his sister and- and he fell for it.”

“Idiot,” Craig whispers, not daring to turn around now. It’s almost silent now, but he doesn’t let that fool him – he’s been forced to watch enough of these to know that silence in a horror movie is just gearing you up for a spectacularly loud noise. Predictably, he’s right. The last surviving girl screams and there’s a whole bunch of other scary noises and- and Tweek actually _jumps_. He waits until Tricia gets up from her seat on the floor to turn the light on (yeah, she’d been there the whole time. Nothing phases her remotely, so she’d just lounged on the floor and teased him for being a pussy) to sit up and point at the other boy. “You jumped!”

“I- I might have.”

“I win.”

“I don’t think that pussy thing you just pulled on the couch for an hour counts as winning, wimp,” says Tricia from the floor, soundlessly accepting the highfive Tweek gives her.

“Fuck off, snotface. It’s your bedtime.” She actually goes upstairs, surprisingly, but not before flicking his ear and telling him to eat shit. All in all he considers himself an excellent babysitter. “Can we go and watch, like. Something nice?”

“In bed? Yeah, sure. D-do- do you want me to get the- the campbed?”

“Dude, when do you ever _not_ share my bed?”

“Good point,” he says, but that weird laugh is back again and Craig doesn’t get what he’s done. There’s nothing weird about them sharing his bed – they’ve been doing it since fifth grade and tonight of all nights he really doesn’t want to be by himself. Tweek seems to sense this and happily complies with all of the weird requests he makes whenever he’s wimping out about something (like shutting the curtains before Craig comes in, checking behind the door and under the bed,) even though they’re things that he’d sometimes get Craig to do for him. It’s like his anxiety has some kind of override – he’s terrified of everything, but if Craig is more scared then he can cope with it. Clyde calls it mom-friend-override, but everyone else is pretty sure he stole that from a tumblr post so they tend to ignore it. It works, actually, and Tweek even puts up the Red Racer reruns he puts on once they’re in bed. This isn’t taken lightly, because Tweek _hates_ Red Racer with an annoying passion despite how it’s the best show to ever air that will never ever get old. After he starts to get kind of tired and less alert from waiting for the witch to jump and kill them both, he pulls Tweek into a tight hug.

“You’re like, pretty cool.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No- I mean it.” Tweek doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t shrug Craig off either, which is good enough. It’s also weirdly comfortable and a lot warmer than usual (the radiator in his room kind of doesn’t work that much) so eventually he lets himself fall asleep with the TV still humming in the background. Tweek still doesn’t seem to mind.

-

Craig vaguely remembers waking up when Tweek got up to go to work, but he fell back asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow so he’s still ninety nine percent asleep when Tricia knocks on his bedroom door. “Wake up, dickhead,” she calls, repeatedly drumming her knuckles on the wood until he mindlessly reaches out and throws the nearest book at the door. “Karen’s brother wants to see you, asshole. Put your dick away ‘cause he’s coming in.” Craig just falls face-first into the pillow again, because if Kenny thinks he’s getting up for him he is _sorely_ mistaken. Unfortunately, Kenny obviously didn’t get the memo about trying to get Craig out of bed before he wants to get up, judging by the way he runs into the room and throws himself onto the bed.

“Good morning!” he says in greeting, voice _far_ too chipper for so early on a Sunday morning. “Time to get up, Craig-y-boo.”

“’m gonna fuckin’ snap your neck,” he mumbles, pretending not to hear how much less threatening he sounds due to his voice being muffled by a pillow. “Get out.”

“No, I’m afraid you’re coming Christmas shopping with me.”

“’s like... November, dude.”

“Christmas is in _two weeks_?”

Craig sits up very suddenly, the sudden movement nearly rolling the other boy off of the bed. _What_? How the fuck did he miss all that time passing? He hasn’t got presents for _anyone_. “Fuck, dude,” he curses, which seems to convey the general idea of everything that just passed through his head to Kenny. “Fine.” Kenny cheers, happily accepting the pillow Craig whacks the upside of his face with. “Why me?”

“Well, you and Butters are the only people I can shop with who don’t either make fun of me for not having that much money – Cartman – or feel bad and try and contribute to everything I buy – Stan and Kyle – and I need to get Butters a present.”

“What about _my_ present, huh?”

“Already got that,” he says as if it’s obvious, and Craig gets a nice kind of feeling in his chest because he was kind of joking and hadn’t expected Kenny to get him anything. Luckily, summer-Craig trusted winter-Craig to forget Christmas was coming up so he’d been conditioning himself to put money in his money jar for this exact purpose all year. Realistically he needs to get something for Clyde, Token, Jimmy, his parents, Tricia, his gran, Kenny and Tweek. Oh- he should probably get Kyle a little thing too, and a couple weeks back he spotted this really nice winter coat on sale that looked like it was Karen’s size. Overall that’s eleven presents, which may be nearly all of his money but he should just about make it. Usually he likes to plan what he’s buying a little more than just walking into town, but he’s accidentally left himself with no choice so he just dresses as quick as possible and lets Kenny drag him into town still half asleep.

First, they hit the obvious stores; he gets parent-y things for his parents and Grandma at Walmart as well as a humongous stack of Ruby’s favourite candy and some of the gross marshmallow shit Clyde eats by the tub (it’s not all he’s getting him, but it’s a nice addition.) Kenny manages to find a decent-quality black backpack for Karen for $10, which he seems quite pleased about. For good measure, he asks Kenny if he plans on getting Karen anything else and is also quite pleased when he says she needs a coat but needs shoes more and his mom can’t afford both.

“Where else is there other than Walmart, dude? There’s nowhere else cheap.”

Kenny looks at him like he’s just suggested burning down said Walmart. “The U-Stor-It second hand shop?”

“Sorry?”

“Dude,” Kenny sighs, rolling his eyes. Craig thinks this is a little unfair. “It’s like, eight storage containers wide. You’ve never seen it?”

“I don’t really, y’know. Spend my time looking around other people’s storage containers.”

“Don’t be a dick, it’s a fucking goldmine in there. I find the weirdest shit and it’s actually, like. Really fucking cool.”

Craig’s not sure he trusts Kenny’s illegal charity shop, but on the flip side they really don’t have anywhere else to look other than maybe Walmart again (it’s endless, so they’d probably end up finding new things if they tried hard enough) so he follows him anyway. The sky is deep grey and heavy in the way that suggests there’s going to be a blizzard tonight, which is pretty cool. Despite how much he hates being cold, he really likes the snow. Kenny doesn’t say much, because Craig doesn’t either, but when he lights a cigarette closer to U-Stor-It than town he wordlessly shares it with him anyway. As much as he loves all of his other friends, it’s refreshing having someone he can just be in comfortable silence with.

“It’s somewhere around here,” he announces with complete confidence – or, at least, too much confidence for someone who clearly doesn’t know where it is. “Um. This way, maybe?” he suggests, jabbing out at Craig when he rolls his eyes at him. “No, it is. Probably.”

Obviously, he’s wrong.

“Do you remember what number container it is?”

Obviously, he doesn’t.

“Excellent, Ken.”

“Hey, we’ll find it! And trust me, it’s so worth it.” Annoyingly, he’s so right. After twenty minutes of Kenny tugging him around into dead ends they eventually find it. Somebody’s hired four storage containers and made (probably illegally) little doors between each one. It’s not a massive space, but there’s tons of shit piled everywhere. Instantly his eyes float over to a Denver Nuggets basketball jersey that, whilst it’s almost definitely fake, looks good enough to be real. _Definitely fake_ , he says to himself when the price tag says $20, but it’s so perfect for Kyle that he picks it up anyway. This continues for well over an hour, both him and Kenny bumping into each other lots but being too focused on scanning the piles and racks and slanted shelves to really pay attention to each other. It really does have the weirdest shit: in the pile labelled ‘lettered clothing’ he finds a navy sweater with a big T on it that he decides looks about good enough to be something Token would wear, on the shelf labelled ‘strange graphic tees’ he finds a grey shirt that says ‘HEWWO’ across the chest that he _knows_ Clyde would buy if he ever saw it and a really obnoxious joke book on one of the wonky bookcases for Jimmy. When Kenny’s at the furthest container away from the old lady who seemingly owns everything, he quickly buys a NASCAR shirt and a magnetic rainbow grinder for him.

“You were right,” he begrudgingly agrees, nodding towards to small pile of gifts he’s accumulated (with Kenny’s already payed for and hidden in the bottom of his bag,) “it’s a fucking goldmine.”

“I know, man! I love this place.”

“How’d you find it?”

“I was playing with Butters in like, fifth grade, and he ran into it to hide. Took me ages to find him. You all done?”

“No, I haven’t found anything for Tweek yet. I’m good otherwise. You?”

“I’m all shopped up and broke as shit,” he says, but he’s grinning as he says it. “Any idea what you want to get him?”

“Not really?”

From quite a way behind them, the old woman clears her throat. “What does young man like?” she asks, voice gravelly and low from disuse. After he gets over embarrassingly flinching out of surprise when she speaks he turns to face her, not really sure what kind of thing he’s supposed to say. “Clothes, hm?”

Her accent isn’t strong, but it’s definitely not American – maybe russian? He’s not sure. “No, um. More special than clothes. He likes... weird books?” Somehow, he gets the feeling she knows exactly what he’s trying to get at. “Not- not fictional ones.”

“Conspiracy,” she decides, which is what convinces him it’s a russian accent. “Come.” Unhelpfully, Kenny only shrugs when he looks at him for help so he doesn’t really have a choice other than to follow her. The third container along has shelves and piles that look incredibly unstable in the way they support each other in climbing towards the roof, but she doesn’t seem to be walking around with any care towards this, not even when the piles wobble threateningly. In the very leftmost back corner there’s a small wooden cabinet that’s been emptied of all its compartment and is instead packed to the brim with hardcover books that smell faintly of dust and mallow oil when she throws the doors open. “Take look,” she drawls, bustling past to stand a couple feet behind him when he looks – or at least that’s what he thinks she’s doing because he only hears her snow boots hit the floor a couple of times. When he glances over his shoulder, she’s gone. It leaves a weird feeling in his chest when he looks back into the cabinet and instantly meets eyes with the most perfect gift possible. Maybe she’s a witch or something. That’d be cool.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, i suck at summaries and fic titles and chapter names and writing in general. if you liked it please give me kudos so i don't think everyone hates it (unless you do hate it)


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